A Day In The Life Of George Mason
by Mandi5
Summary: This is Day 2 from George Mason's POV. The dialogue and events are written as they occurred in the relevant episodes. The final two chapters are now up. PLEASE R & R!
1. Bakersfield

Disclaimer: 24 and the characters in it do not belong to me. I've only borrowed them for a while and I'll put them back when I've finished. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no profit shall be made from it.

Summary: This is Day 2 from George Mason's point of view. The dialogue and the events are written as they occurred in the relevant episodes, but George's thoughts and feelings are mine....er....I mean.....his. George was a great character and this is my tribute to him and his, now famous, sarcastic wit and one- liners!

A Day In The Life Of George Mason.  
By Mandi Sheridan

_ **"I'm Special-Agent-In-Charge George Mason. I'm the Director of the CIA's Counter Terrorist Unit in Los Angeles. If you think that Jack Bauer is having a bad day, just wait until you read about mine!"  
**_  
Chapter 1 - Bakersfield.  
  
George knew he was screwed the moment he heard the gunshots. He watched in horror as a round tore through the young police officer's chest, bursting it open, and then the glass was breaking all over him as he crouched down. Instinctively, he pulled the body of the cop in front of him and used it as a shield against the bullets. At first – for a split second – he thought he was okay – he hadn't been hit and the gunfire had ceased – then he noticed the familiar sign lying amid the shattered glass and he knew immediately that he was in more trouble than he could ever imagine he'd end up in.  
He fell back among the shards of glass and held his breath, despite his body's natural instinct in the heat of the moment to draw air into his lungs. He held it as long as he could but he knew that it was too late – he'd already inhaled.  
He breathed again – there wasn't much point in holding it now – and stared in horror at the sign lying on the floor in front of him. It read –  
'DANGER. RADIOACTIVE MATERIALS'.  
George quickly looked up and saw the approaching police officers – LAPD's finest.  
"Get out of the building!" He yelled a warning to them. "Get out of the building! Call Hazmat and have them set up a quarantine!"  
He got up onto his feet and looked around the makeshift laboratory.  
"I think we got a hot zone," he told them.  
He was shaking in fear as he pulled out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose and tried to cough as much as he could without throwing up into it.  
  
They made him remove his clothes, bagging everything – his shirt, shoes, watch, trousers, firearm, even his cell phone – they'd taken it from him right in the middle of briefing Tony about finding what appeared to be a makeshift laboratory in the warehouse – probably where the nuclear bomb had been assembled.  
Then Tony started telling him that NSA had requested CTU's database on the nuke threat.  
"It's standard procedure to consolidate data from agencies," he told him.  
"Yeah. Well, that's just it," Tony said. "We're the only agency they've asked."  
I'm busy right now Tony, George thought. Deal with it yourself. He told him to call Ryan Chappelle at Division and let him sort it out and dropped his phone into the bag. He stood there in his boxer shorts, shivering despite the heat.  
"I need all your clothes off," the guy in the Hazmat suit told him.  
Oh great! Oh, this was just great!  
"You're not even gonna buy me dinner?" he asked as he stepped out of his boxers and threw them into the bag along with the rest of his clothes and made his way towards the portable decontamination unit where a second faceless guy in a Hazmat suit turned a hose on him, and then a third faceless guy in the same kind of suit started scrubbing him down with a brush. He felt the panic rise in him as they turned him around and around, washing and scrubbing, and the water was hot, almost burning, and the soap stung where the scrubbing brush had taken his skin off.  
"Hey? Easy guys," he'd yelled above the roar of the hose. "I like my skin! Try and leave some on. All right?"  
They'd ignored him and carried on as though they honestly believed that soap and water were going to make a difference. Sure, they'd rinsed the radiation off his skin and they would clean it off his clothes and everything, but what about inside him? What about his lungs and his stomach and the stuff that was already seeping into his pores? Would soap and water wash all that crap away?  
Afterwards he felt raw and so afraid because he knew they could have stood there for a week scrubbing and hosing him and it wouldn't have made any difference at all.  
  
He sat on the rear step of the fire truck and tried to take in what they'd told him a few minutes ago.  
"Cut to the chase doctor," he had asked and wished he hadn't.  
"Your radiation exposure level is high. Definitely lethal," the doctor had told him.  
"How much time do I have?"  
"Could be as much as a week, or as little as a day."  
This wasn't what he wanted to hear. This was definitely not what he wanted to hear. The doctor had apologised – like it was his fault? – and then they'd left him alone, and he felt so stupid sitting there in a paper suit and wrapped in a blanket. If only he'd ignored Tony Almeida's call telling him that LAPD had matched a vehicle to one they were looking for, and that it was on his - er - route to Bakersfield – and he had a hard time not hearing the sarcasm in Tony's voice - and that there was no one else available to check it out. If he'd just hung up he'd have been in Bakersfield by now – well out of the nuke's potential blast radius – with a couple of hundred thousand dollars in his bank account, a boat to sail in, and a twenty-something blonde, who didn't care that he was nearly fifty- four and going bald, to keep him happy in his retirement. Hell, with that sort of money, if she did care, he could trade her in for another one!  
  
The doctor had returned and began talking to him in that sympathetic break-it-to-him-gently tone of voice that they used – something about transferring the stuff out of his car and putting it into the ambulance.  
"So, how's it gonna happen?" George asked.  
"Excuse me?"  
"You say I might be dead by tomorrow. I'm just kinda curious to know what to expect for the rest of the day," he tried to laugh. Tried to make light of it. But failed.  
"Uh... there's a latent period where you'll be mostly asymptomatic even in the most extreme cases of radiation poisoning. It can last a while."  
"What's a while?" George asked hopefully. A week? A month? A year? Ten? Twenty? What?  
"Ah, up to twelve hours. Maybe longer. How do you feel now?"  
"Like I wanna puke," George told him with a slight laugh that almost turned into a sob.  
"I can give you something to control the nausea."  
"Uh, gee, thanks."  
"At least until the symptoms are more acute."  
"Yeah? Uh, like what?" George asked.  
"Your hair will start to fall out."  
Oh, this was just great. This was just perfect. George couldn't help laughing.  
"I'm used to _that_!"  
"You'll start to manifest gastro-intestinal haemorrhaging, skin lesions, bleeding from the mouth and nose."  
This part didn't sound so good and George fought the urge to gag, disguising it with a cough. He cleared his throat.  
"Okay. So how am I gonna die?"  
The doctor looked as though he was going to break down and George wondered how often he got to do this.  
"Ahem. Your mental functioning begins to deteriorate and then you'll lapse into a coma..." he left the rest unsaid.  
It began to hit him. He was well and truly screwed.  
  
"You screwed up again George, didn't you?" He could almost hear Carol, his ex-wife, telling him what a crappy husband, father and man he was. Yeah Carol, you were right; I've really screwed up this time! There I was planning to run away and I couldn't even do that properly!  
He would be lucky if he lived another twenty four hours. This had turned into the worst day of his life and now it seemed like it was gonna be his last.  
Jack Bauer thought he had it bad, but Jack's worst day was nothing compared to this. In fact when he thought about it, Jack Bauer was the reason this day was turning out so badly.  
  
It had started off normally enough, if a little annoying. He wanted a nice quiet day. He had a heck of a lot of paperwork to catch up on and he wanted to be left alone to do it. Just after eight o'clock he had gone for a coffee and he was heading back up to his office to start on that paperwork and then Paula Schaeffer stopped him and started yacking on about some new software upgrades she'd ordered, and then Tony wanted to tell him the date for the meeting about the new security program for LAX airport – like he was really interested in _that_ – and, damn it, he still hadn't been reassigned to Washington.  
Then Michelle Dessler came running up to him and she informed him that Eric Rayburn from NSA was calling and requesting he bring in Jack Bauer and have him reinstated – that couldn't be a good thing under any circumstances – and naturally Jack refused to take any of his calls and he ended up having to go back to Rayburn and tell him the only way to be in with a hope in hell of convincing Jack to return was to have President Palmer request him personally. It was then that he started to realise that this wasn't going to be a good day at all.  
  
Then he received the report from NSA and Division, and as he listened to the briefing he could feel the paralysing fear grip him. He gave himself a few moments to prepare and then took a deep breath and headed downstairs, calling to everyone as he walked down.  
"All right! Heads up! I need department heads over here right now! We have an active priority!"  
What am I going to say he thought, as everyone gathered at the foot of the stairs? I'll just tell them straight. That's all I can do. No preliminaries, no bullshit. Just tell 'em.  
"Just got off a conference call with NSA and Division. It appears there's a nuclear bomb under terrorist control somewhere here in Los Angeles and its set to go off at some point in the course of the day."  
George watched their faces – noting their reactions. This was the hardest part, but he had to make it clear to them.  
"So, from this moment on we do not communicate with anybody outside of our secure envelope. That means we don't call home. We don't talk to friends. We don't call relatives. Our job is to find this device and stop it. We do not want to create panic."  
He gave them a moment to let it sink in; knowing that their first thoughts would be to do just was he had told them not to do. They might want to – a few probably would – hell, he would, if he had anybody to call – but most of them, despite their fear, would do as he asked.  
"I know this isn't very pleasant," George told them, his voice gentle but firm. "But this is our job. This is what we do. So let's do it."  
He didn't give them a chance to ask him any questions just turned on his heels and started back up the stairs. But Tony was behind him, calling to him.  
"I still haven't been able to reach Jack," Tony told him.  
George nodded. "Don't worry about it. NSA got a hold of him."  
"Is this why they want him?" Tony asked. "I mean, he's been out of play for over a year."  
Probably, George thought, and Christ, we really do need him right now. But will he be any good to us?  
"I don't have the details yet, but I'm guessing it has something to do with one of his previous covers."  
  
Then Jack finally showed up, walking into the conference room, scruffy and unshaven, and looking like a bum off the street – something George couldn't resist telling him later. So President Palmer had managed to get through to him. George wondered what he'd promised him.  
He tried to say hello, but Jack was having none of it and just asked him what he was doing here.  
Fine, if that's how you want it, George thought. I don't like you any more than you like me. You're a loose cannon Jack. You're dangerous and you're probably insane, but you get results and I need you. We need you. So I'll play along for the time being.  
He gave Jack the details.  
"There's a rogue nuclear weapon here in Los Angeles, Jack. Intel says it's going off today."  
"How good's your Intel?" Jack asked.  
"Very. NSA did the groundwork. They have high probability leads on regional cells that might be involved."  
"How close are you to id'ing a prime suspect?"  
"Not close at all," George shook his head. "That's what you're here for."  
And then Jack – without saying a freaking word! – turned around and walked straight out of the conference room. Shit! The bastard had turned and walked out on him!  
"Where are you going, Jack? Jack?" He yelled after him, but Jack didn't stop.  
This was all he needed! He started to go after him but Tony beat him to it and thankfully, somehow or other, managed to convince him to come back in – although he was still hesitant at first, still wary, and because of the nuke threat, in his eyes, his only priority was the safety of his daughter, Kim. George promised he would take care of it. But that wasn't good enough. He wanted Tony to keep him up to date.  
"I'm sorry George, I just don't trust you," Jack told him.  
"Well you're gonna have to start. What we're up against today, none of us can walk away from, Jack."  
George softened, knowing exactly how much Kim's safety meant to him. "Tony and I will both take care of Kim."  
  
Jack finally agreed and they began working on his cover, but he made it obvious that he wasn't going to speak to George or let him in on any of it. This was really starting to piss him off.  
"Are you losing it Jack?" he yelled right in the man's face. "Cause I need to know! Cause I just don't have the time or the resources to clean up your messes today!"  
  
At Jack's insistence, they brought in Marshal Goran – the witness, the only witness, against Joseph Wald – the Second Wave guy – the guy who they suspected could lead them to the terrorists behind the nuke threat. Jack had insisted they transfer him over to CTU for questioning and he'd done so and Jack had started questioning him and that's when George knew for certain that Jack had lost it. Because only a complete nutcase would shoot dead a federal witness in custody!  
_And in my freaking custody, Jack!_ How the hell do I explain that to Division?  
  
The rest of the world droned on in the background as George went over what the doctor had just told him. Soon he would become symptomatic. He'd begin to experience nausea, internal pain, followed by bleeding from his mouth and nose and then skin lesions and hair loss, and then he'd lose his mental abilities, motor functions, then he'd fall into a coma and finally he'd be dead. And all in the space of twenty four hours, or maybe a week at the most. But while he didn't know all that much about weapons grade plutonium, he knew enough to know that inhaling it was fatal and the amount he'd inhaled meant it was more likely that he would be dead in twenty-four hours, or less, instead of a week.  
Oh Christ, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to tune out the voices and the sirens and the horror. And the fear.  
  
He really did feel sick – not from the radiation poisoning – that would come later, or sooner most likely, but from the realisation of what he'd done and how stupid he'd been, walking into that warehouse without proper back-up. That was why he wanted to throw up. But when he thought about it, they didn't know then that the nuke had been assembled there. All they'd had was a vehicle match from LAPD. The link had been tenuous at best, but he still should have been more careful.  
  
Or maybe it already was the radiation? If that was the case then he'd be dead real quickly. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He'd be gone long before the goddamn bomb went off. Maybe he still had time to go to Bakersfield, see – hell, he couldn't even remember her name – and get laid one last time. But she'd want dinner and drinks first – if she was even speaking to him – and he probably wouldn't have time for that whole deal. Christ, he didn't even have time to get laid!  
  
"Mr. Mason?"  
"Not now," he heard the doctor saying.  
George looked up, momentarily confused. What wasn't now?  
A police officer appeared with a cell phone in his hand. His cell phone. He handed it to him. "There's a guy from your office. Tony Almeida. . . ."  
"Not now!" The doctor seemed angry, but the cop was insistent.  
"He said it's urgent."  
"Its okay," George took the phone from him, glad of any distraction. "Hey Tony. What is it?"  
"They hit us George. They bombed CTU."

This isn't the most original fan fic I've ever written, but it's something that I just had to write. Please read and review!!

Chapter 2 will be along shortly.


	2. Hendrix

Chapter 2 – Hendrix.  
  
George felt the ground disappearing beneath him and he was thankful he was sitting on the step. This wasn't the distraction he wanted.  
Disbelief first. This was some kind of sick joke – we get a nuke threat in and then suddenly we're bombed? This just did not happen! But Tony wasn't a joker.  
"What? What? What kind of damage?" he asked.  
"Nineteen dead, twenty wounded. Seven missing," Tony told him, and went on to tell him something about the intel on the nuke being on the NSA server, and something about Paula being seriously injured, and she was the one who had written the encryption codes so she was the only one who could retrieve their data, and when was he coming back in?  
Yeah, right Tony! I'll be in shortly. Like I'm gonna spend my last day among that wreckage!  
Tony was yelling at him – he could hear the panic in his voice – and he couldn't deal with it just now. He really was gonna puke.  
"Just do whatever you have to, to retrieve it."  
"Yeah. Well I am," Tony said. "That's what I'm trying to do. That's why I called you. Chain of command, remember?"  
"Call NSA systems people. Get 'em on it."  
"I already did, George."  
  
As the enormity of it struck him, on top of everything else, George felt himself near to tears. His unit. His office. His people. Dead. Dying. Just like him. And Tony wanted to know when he was coming back. He cleared his throat and steadied his voice as best as he could.  
"The truth is, I may not be coming back at all," he told Tony.  
"Why not?"  
Oh, fuck off Tony! George felt like yelling. I'm gonna be dead in about twenty hours and it's gonna be messy and painful and you want me to come back in? Yeah, right!  
"Because I'm not really in a position to help out right now," was what he told him.  
Then Tony started yelling at him. About running away and covering his ass. So what? Of course he was running away. The probability of the nuclear bomb detonating and destroying most of LA had been put at between eighty-nine and ninety-three per cent. When he'd read that he'd decided he wasn't a gambling man and running away had seemed the smartest thing to do. Yeah, well I didn't get very far and my ass is well and truly covered now, George thought.  
"Look! Just deal with it Tony. Okay?" He let the anger die down. "Just deal with it. All right?"  
"Yeah. Right." Tony hung up on him.  
  
The ambulance travelled slowly. No sirens. No panic. It wasn't as though breaking any speed records to get him there was going to save his life. So they took their time. The paramedic sat quietly. Keeping an eye on him but not making eye contact. He hadn't spoken a word from the time he had climbed into the back along with him. To be honest, George didn't want to speak anyway. What was there to chat about? The weather? The ballgame? The effects of inhaling plutonium? He'd already had a lesson in that. He was an expert on that now.  
He was more than content to let the guy just sit there. Although, if he could get to his gun . . . .  
He let that thought disappear as quickly as it appeared. There wasn't much point in going down that road. The paramedic would stop him before he ever reached it. And besides, blowing his own brains out in the back of an ambulance was messy, and not how he wanted to be remembered.  
Then the radio crackled into life. He heard CTU being mentioned and at first he thought it was a request for more ambulances. This is bad, George thought. This is really bad. And for a moment he regretted not going back. But there was nothing he could do. Almeida was a good man. George didn't like him, but then he didn't like any of the people he worked with. He didn't even like the job.  
The paramedic handed him the mike. It was Tony. Something about them needing his password.  
"My password?" George asked.  
"Yeah," Tony replied, his voice crackling. Was it the radio reception, or was Tony beginning to crack under the pressure?  
"Hendrix," George told him.  
"That's with an x?" Tony asked.  
"How else would you spell it?" What a stupid question, George thought.  
He was about to leave it at that – to let it go - but he had to ask.  
"Tony?"  
"What?" Tony snapped.  
"How's Paula doing?"  
He couldn't remember what exactly Tony said next, his mind was elsewhere, and everywhere, numb, yet racing - jumbled up thoughts of CTU, and the doctor explaining his condition, then back to CTU again, then back to what had happened to him - but he picked up enough to know she was in a bad way. Poor kid, he thought as he handed the mike back to the paramedic.  
  
He was coughing a lot more now, and wondering if maybe this was a good thing. Hacking the stuff up might clear his lungs so he didn't try to fight it. Apart from the cough and the nausea, which had abated a little since he'd swallowed a couple of the pills the doctor had given him, he felt okay. Not great. Not with this death sentence hanging over him, but he felt okay. He glanced over at the paramedic and saw the look on his face that the poor guy was trying to hide. The man knew he was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a corpse.  
This isn't what I want, George thought. I don't want to just lie down and die. Alone. I want to finish it. See it through.  
"Am I contagious?" he asked.  
"No," the paramedic told him, and his mind was made up. He was going back. He had no choice.  
  
He couldn't believe the mess the place was in. Like a bomb's just gone off, he couldn't help thinking the obvious as he picked his way through the remains of the building. It really was a mess. Half of it was cordoned off because of structural damage and it could collapse at any minute – he ordered someone to get a structural engineer in - and there were still about half a dozen injured people waiting to be conveyed to hospital. People he'd worked with. His office looked intact, and he wanted to get up there and hide but then he saw the stretcher with Paula lying on it. Almeida was with her.  
"What's going on here?" he asked.  
"I thought you weren't coming back here," Tony said and George heard the bitterness in his voice.  
"I changed my mind."  
"Oh, did you?" Tony said. "Why?"  
George looked at him and could see the challenge in his eyes. Yeah, go ahead Tony. Hate me. It's not like I really give a shit any more. It's not like I ever gave a shit.  
He glared at Tony. "I don't have to answer to you so drop the attitude! Now, how is she?"  
"She's bad. She's bleeding internally."  
He turned to the doctor and asked him if they could treat her here. The doctor shook his head and told him she needed surgery.  
"You're gonna put her under anaesthesia?" George asked, incredulous. "How long is she gonna be under?"  
"A couple of hours," the doctor told him.  
  
He didn't want to do it but he had no choice. He had to make the decision.  
"Okay then, she stays here."  
Tony went ballistic and tried to make him change his mind. I can't Tony. God help me, I want to but I can't. Don't you understand?  
"We don't have time. I need her here and I need her lucid," he told him.  
"This girl deserves a chance to live!" Tony argued.  
Goddamn it, I know that! Don't you think I don't know that she deserves a chance? We all deserve a chance to live but sometime we don't get it. Do you think this is easy? I don't want her to die any more than you do.  
He looked at Tony, long and hard and finally the other man backed down.  
"Wake her up," George ordered. "Now!"  
  
Giving the order to revive Paula and get the codes out of her had probably been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He could see the disgust in Tony's eyes and he wondered if maybe he was screwing her. Tony seemed to be concerned about her more than about anyone or anything else. Then he remembered that it was Tony who had brought her into CTU.  
The poor kid was dying and if she died the codes would die with her. And they needed them now. Not later. Now. It would take several hours to hack the files and obtain the codes and she would be in surgery for at least a couple of hours and even if she did survive she wouldn't be able to talk. He had no choice.  
He felt sick as he watched them administer the drugs and stabilise her enough to get her awake and talking. They were still in CTU's underground parking garage – or what was left of it. The blast had collapsed the floor above and there was debris lying everywhere. What a crappy place to die, he thought turning away, and noticed Tony getting ready to leave.  
"Where are you headed?" he asked.  
Tony muttered something about following up on a lead that had just come in. Something about an L. A. connection to Syed Ali.  
"Well, send somebody else. I need you here," George told him.  
"To do what? Watch Paula die?"  
"I told you. We gotta get the encryption codes out of her or we lose everything. We can't let that happen today."  
Disgusted, Tony headed for the exit. George stopped him.  
"No! You're gonna stay here and that's an order!"  
But Tony was adamant and told him that there was no one else available.  
George relented and dismissed him. "Be reachable. All right?"  
He turned and saw Dessler staring at him.  
"What are you looking at?" he glared at her as she walked past him.  
"Nothing," she'd replied and scurried away and he felt bad about that. She was bruised and bandaged and probably ached from head to toe and all he could do was snarl at her.  
  
Oh, Christ! George couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He felt his stomach sinking as his mind replayed Jack's message.  
Nina Myers! She was behind the bombing! That bitch was behind the bombing of CTU! She'd killed and maimed her own colleagues! She'd sold everyone out.  
George realised then that they'd been bombed to cripple their response capabilities. He looked around at the mess - at the blood and the debris, and at the injured people who were doing their hardest to get the place up and running again. They've succeeded, he thought, they've really crippled us.  
Then Jack told him that he'd called Ryan Chappelle.  
"You what?" Oh shit! Now he was going to have Chappelle and Division all over him like a rash.  
"I couldn't find you," Jack told him.  
'Course you couldn't Jack. I was busy getting killed. Something like that kinda put me out of touch for a while!  
"He agreed we needed to talk to her. He's having her transferred over to CTU for questioning," Jack told him.  
  
No, George groaned. This can't be happening. Jack and Nina in the same building. No way! Okay, he thought. I'll deal with Nina. I can handle her. It can't be that hard, seeing her again after what – eighteen months? It'll be okay, he told himself. It'll be okay. But not with Jack there.  
  
He ordered him to go to Division for de-brief.  
"What are you going to do about Nina?" Jack asked.  
"I'll take care of it," he told him.  
"Don't just hand her over to the FBI, George," Jack pleaded.  
"Forget it Jack. You did a great job. Go find yourself some place safe."  
He hung up quickly and went to find Michelle and told her to set up an interrogation room with maximum security. Then he told her who was coming over.  
"The CTU agent who killed Jack's wife?" Michelle couldn't believe it.  
"Yeah. I know," George couldn't believe it either. The thought of seeing Nina again was almost too much even for him.  
  
Things were beginning to move. Slowly yes, but at least they were moving. The main power was back on and the tech people were close to bring the computers online again. Michelle was working hard out with them. Some, although not nearly enough of the debris had been cleared away and he could smell coffee. Someone had made some. That normally made him feel good but right now it only increased his nausea which, so far, he had been able to keep under control. So far. Off duty agents had been contacted and were coming in to assist, and Michelle had just informed him that the chopper carrying Nina Myers had just lifted off.  
"Oh good. Set up the mobile video unit for the interrogation," he told her.  
Then he spotted Jack Bauer walking in as if he owned the place. Hey, you can have it! I won't have much need for it shortly, he thought.  
"Jack? What the hell are you doing here? I sent you to Division."  
"I want to do the de-brief here," Jack told him.  
Yeah. Right. Like I'm gonna believe that?  
"Look, I'm not going to mince words with you. Nina killed your wife. I don't want you anywhere near her."  
Jack looked around him – taking in the damage that had been done. The damage Nina Myers had caused. He muttered something and George could only hear him from a distance.  
"What about Ivers?" Jack asked.  
"Dead," George told him.  
"Clarke?"  
"Dead. We lost a lot of good people, Jack."  
Jack looked around again at the damage. "I'll get started on the de-brief."  
"Hey. Do us both a favour. Finish, and go."   
  
"She's awake," the doctor said. "Better move fast. I don't know how much time you have."  
George was beside her in an instant.  
"Hey Paula. It's George Mason."  
He cradled her head and felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. It was something he wasn't used to. He really didn't give a damn about the people who worked under him as long as they did their job and didn't do anything that would get him into trouble and blow his chances of getting that transfer to D.C. that he wanted. But he wouldn't be going to D.C. now. Well, maybe in a casket - but not to work there - and it was here and now that mattered. Paula mattered. The encryption codes mattered. Getting CTU up and running at some sort of level of normalcy in order to deal with the nuke threat mattered. And Paula mattered. Most of all Paula mattered. Not just the codes she had locked in her head, but she had to know that she'd made a difference. She had to be told that the small role she'd played had made a difference to the safety of her city and the people who lived there.  
George fought to find the correct words. It wasn't easy for him. He had his own problems right now and he was used to being a bastard, not this sympathetic Mr. Nice Guy who found himself concerned about, and sympathetic to, this young woman who had only been working for him a short time and who was in great pain and near death. But he needed those codes, and if she had to die in order for him to get them, then she would. It wasn't easy. But hey, what was easy today?  
"Can you hear me?" he asked.  
"What happened?"  
"We had a big explosion," he told her. "Do you remember the encryption codes Paula? You're the only one who has them?"  
She tried to speak and he leaned closer to her, all the while stroking her hair. Her eyelids fluttered and she seemed to fade.  
"Stay with us Paula."  
  
Michelle came over and he felt uncomfortable with her there. But then Michelle and Paula had been friends of a sort. Hadn't they? He wasn't sure. He'd never cared enough to know - unless it was useful to him. That's the type of bastard I am, George realised and wished he had taken more time to get to know the people who worked for him and were loyal to him and would, and very often did, die for him.  
Life is full of fucking regrets, he thought and realised he had a lot to do today, and very little time in which to do it.  
  
Michelle tried to make contact and it worked because Paula managed to tell her the password and the volume it was in.  
"Hang in there, sweetie," George continued stroking her hair as Michelle flew over to the work station leaving him there with her and trying to think of something to say.  
"That's it," Michelle told him.  
Oh, thank Christ! George breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down at Paula.  
"Hey. You did good," he told her. "What you just did is going to save a lot of lives today."  
He wanted to say more but he couldn't – there wasn't time – and he couldn't think of anything more to say anyway, so he nodded to the doctor and stepped back out of their way.  
  
They'd hardly taken her any distance at all when she went into v-tach and crashed. He felt tears welling up in his eyes and he fought to keep them from overflowing. Michelle came and stood beside him, also watching. They worked on her for a few minutes, knowing it was a token exercise. And then it was over. Paula was gone and the death toll had just risen by one more. George felt as if he'd killed her himself.  
  
He left everyone to it and disappeared back up to his office – the safest haven that he could hope to find at this moment in time. He closed the door quietly behind him, shutting out the noises from down below, and sat down. For a long while he just sat there.  
  



	3. Interrogations

Chapter 3 – Interrogations.  
  
George watched from the balcony, leaning over the railing as he looked down at what was now nothing more than ordered chaos. The computers were on line, they had communications – although the phone lines were still patchy - and the video feeds were back up again. Most, if not all, of the debris had been cleared away - although it still looked as though a bomb had hit it - and apart from the cordoned off areas and the people who weren't there anymore - and who wouldn't be there ever again - it looked normal. Yeah. Right, he thought wryly. What's normal?  
Paula's death had hit him hard. He had killed her just as surely as he'd killed himself a couple of hours ago. Except that his heart hadn't stopped beating yet. But it was her death more than anyone else's that made him so much more aware of the limited time he had left. And he wanted more time. He needed more time.  
It can't end today, he thought. This can't be my last day. This can't be. . . it? My life? Over?  
Part of him still felt, despite the nausea and the coughing and the pain he was now beginning to feel, that it wasn't going to happen. Not really. He thought, or rather hoped that there'd been some kind of error, or mix up, with the readings and soon, somebody would realise this and they'd call him to tell him the good news.  
And then I'll destroy them for putting me through this kind of hell, he promised.  
And this cough? Yeah, well, maybe I'm coming down with flu or something. Yeah, that's it. It's nothing more than a real nasty flu bug, which could also account for the nausea, and I'll wake up tomorrow morning feeling like shit and I'll call in sick for a day or two and I'll be fine by the end of the week.  
Oh, yeah, he thought. And Division will call me and tell me my transfer has finally been approved. And Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy really do exist. Who the hell am I kidding?  
Once again he felt the realisation, and the fear, hitting him, and right along with it he experienced a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the radiation sickness.  
There's nothing - not a damned thing! - I can do about it, he realised. But I can still do my job, at least for a little while longer. I can still help these people. If they'll let me?  
  
He glanced down at them again. He could see Jack working on his report. Michelle was hovering behind him and looking embarrassed. He'd asked her to try and hurry Jack up and get him out of the building before Myers showed up. He watched as she spoke to Jack, and he could see Jack declining her offer to help and then she glanced up towards him with a shake of her head. Jack wasn't budging.  
He'd expected this. There was very little he could do about it – well, he could have Jack escorted from the building, but that would be embarrassing for both of them and besides, he still might need him. He shrugged his shoulders back at Michelle and turned back into his office. They'd be bringing Nina in soon.  
  
There was silence as everyone stopped to stare. George came down the stairs as Nina Myers walked, or rather, shuffled in. The shackles around her ankles and wrists looked heavy and she seemed smaller than he remembered her, but maybe that was because of the five large and very mean- looking guards that surrounded her. Her hair was longer and her face thinner. She was very pale.  
He followed them to the interrogation room. He could feel Jack's eyes watching him, and he tensed – fully expecting a confrontation - but Jack remained silent and thankfully stayed at his desk. George deliberately ignored him as he walked past. He had a good idea what was going on in Jack's head.  
  
"Hello Nina," George said, stopping at the door and placed his hands on his hips, pulling his jacket back and, in doing so, allowed her a good look at his gun as a warning gesture. Try anything and I'll drop you, he was telling her. She didn't speak. She watched him as he approached her - a slight smile playing on her lips. The kind of smile she had always given him – like he was something nasty she had stepped in. He wanted to hit her. He really wanted to smack her hard and wipe that smile off her face and make her realise she couldn't screw around with him.  
That was just it. She hadn't screwed around with him. She'd slept with Jack, and then she'd slept with Tony and in between he'd been tempted a few times to ask her out but she'd always looked down her nose at him as if challenging him to do just that so she could turn him down - like he wasn't good enough for her. Bitch!  
He pulled out the chair and sat down opposite her, all the while watching her eyes. God, she was cold. But underneath, hopefully, she was vulnerable. She had gone from being the second in command of CTU, to being a prisoner held under the tightest maximum security and with no hope of release. Her life was over.  
George dispensed with any preliminaries and cut right to the chase.  
"So, you weren't just working for the Drazens? Selling information to anyone who would buy it? Presidential assassins, terrorists, didn't matter. What do you know about this nuclear bomb?" He asked.  
"Here are the terms, George," she said and told him what she wanted, all the time smiling at him. "They're non-negotiable."  
She would tell him everything in exchange for a full Presidential pardon with a third party certification and guaranteed in writing.  
"That's not gonna fly," he told her.  
"Then take me back," she said.  
"You're not buying a used car here. You have to deal within the confines of reality," George told her sarcastically. "You're not gonna get anything unless you produce results."  
"It's in my interests to produce results," she said calmly.  
  
George stared long and hard at her – watching her for any sign that she was bluffing. She wasn't. George knew she wouldn't give in. He had to swing this for her. As much as he hated her, deep down a part of him wanted to be able to give it to her until he remembered again what she had done. She'd screwed everyone. She'd murdered Jack's wife. She'd slept with Almeida. She'd blown his promotion and she'd killed so many of her colleagues - back when she was trying to escape that night eighteen months ago - and then again this morning when, because of her, the building had been bombed and half of his staff had been killed.  
He got to his feet, all the time keeping eye contact with her, a half smile on his face, yet controlling his emotions in front of her. I control you Nina. I can decide whether you live or die. How does that feel?  
But that same smug expression never left her face. She kept the same eye contact with him the whole time, like she'd nothing to hide. George shook his head in disgust and walked out of the room.  
Jack was at his side immediately. He remained silent but his face was asking a thousand questions. George ignored him, turning his back on him as he dialled Chappelle's number.  
But Jack refused to give up and asked about Nina.  
"Is she gonna help?"  
"Just finish your de-brief and go," George told him.  
  
While he was in the middle of explaining Nina's terms and conditions to Chappelle he started coughing and this time he couldn't stop. He doubled over in response to it, and along with it he could feel the weirdest tightness in his chest. Was that fear? Or something else?  
He didn't notice that Jack was watching him.  
  
It was getting close to lunchtime and he was hungry but he couldn't face the thought of eating anything, in fact even thinking about it brought waves of nausea crashing all around him. He hurried down the corridor to the rest rooms and took the bottle of pills out of his pocket. For a second he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. So far he looked okay, but looks were deceiving. He cupped water into his hand and swallowed a couple of the pills, hoping they'd kick in real soon. He leaned over the wash basin and rinsed his face with cold water and grabbed a paper towel.  
He looked in the mirror again as he was drying his face and saw Jack Bauer standing behind him.  
"President Palmer told me he had to take a deal with Nina. I want the case. I know how she thinks."  
"Really?" Oh, yeah, I bet you do Jack!  
"Yes. And you know it."  
George wiped his eyes with the balled up tissue paper and threw it into the bin.  
"I'm not talking to you, Jack. Because you're not here right now."  
He brushed past him and walked out.  
  
"What are you doing in my office?" He glared at Jack sitting there waiting for him.  
"How long did they give you?" Jack asked.  
In horror and surprise, George turned away. How the hell. . . .?  
"George, I know you were exposed to high levels of radioactive material in Panorama City this morning," Jack told him.  
"How'd you figure that out?"  
"Your anti-nausea medication. It's for radiation sickness." He showed George the bottle that he'd left behind him in the rest room.  
"I checked the logs. I made a few calls. You inhaled plutonium, George."  
"So?"  
"So, I'm not the only person who shouldn't be here today."  
Now he knows, George thought. This makes it more real. He paced the office a couple of times and finally sat down beside Jack. Both men looked at one another, saying nothing. Jack handed him the bottle.  
"How long do you have?" Jack asked.  
"I'll probably be dead by this time tomorrow. Why? What's it to you?"  
Like you care, Jack. Like you really give a damn. You're probably sitting there, remembering that this used to be your office and you're thinking that with me out of the way you'll get back in here as director. Well, I know for a fact that ain't gonna happen.  
"I wanna know what your plans are for Nina?" Jack said.  
  
Okay, so I was wrong there, George thought. At least he didn't start in with the sympathy crap. I don't think I could have taken that.  
"As soon as we get a signature from Palmer she's gonna tell us everything she knows."  
"Who's gonna be her handler?"  
"O'Neil."  
"Forget about O'Neil. I wanna do it."  
George shook his head.  
"I'm dying, Jack. I'm not crazy. You and Nina together is a recipe for disaster," he told him. There was no way on earth he'd let Jack handle Nina Myers.  
"Maybe. But if you don't do this, I'll phone District and tell them about your condition. They'll have you replaced within minutes."  
  
You bastard, George thought. You crazy, heartless, black- mailing bastard! You always put yourself first, don't you Jack? Right then George hated Jack Bauer more than anything else in the world. This wasn't the first time Jack had done this to him.  
He doesn't give a damn about me. He doesn't care even slightly that I'm gonna be dead by the end of the day. All he cares about is himself and Nina, and what he'd like to do to her.  
George shook his head. There was no way he was going to let Jack anywhere near Nina.  
"George. We want the same thing. We want to finish this job and find the bomb," Jack pushed him harder. "Now let me do it."  
He looked around the office. If they throw me out now, where do I go? What do I do? He knew he was caught. He knew that he had no choice.  
"Go ahead," he told Jack.  
He sat down at his desk and refused to look at him as Jack got up to leave.  
"I'm sorry," Jack told him as he walked out.  
  
George took a deep breath and walked over to Jack's workstation. He could see the intensity in Jack's eyes and the question that was on his lips was so easily read in those eyes. Oh, you don't wanna hear this, Jack. You really don't wanna hear this. But I'm gonna tell you anyway.  
"Palmer just signed the pardon. So, as soon as it gets here we'll begin the interrogation," George told him.  
What are you thinking Jack? George wondered because, surprisingly, Jack hardly reacted at all to his words. All he did was nod quietly and go back to staring at Nina's face on the screen. Will you kill her the second I let you in there? Will you Jack? Because, you know I would. I'd kill her if I were in your shoes. Well. . . .maybe I would. Yeah, when I think about it, I probably would. Am I nuts, letting you near her? Probably. But what choice do I have?  
George let his eyes rest on the screen and he watched her for a while. Both men watched her, each with their own memories of her. Did you love her Jack? You said that you didn't, but maybe you did. Okay, probably not as much as you loved your wife, but you had some feelings for her. Hell, she was hot. We all had some feelings for Nina. I know I had. We all know Almeida had. How could we have known back then what she was? What she was – and still probably is - capable of? If we had any inkling back then of what she would do – to you personally – and to us - would it have made a difference?  
Sure, George told himself, I'd have put a round in the back of her head myself, if I'd known back then.  
  
Michelle was holding papers in front of him. For a second he wondered what they were, and then realised she was holding the fax confirming the pardon. He took them from her and silently handed them to Jack who just stared at it, unbelieving.  
"Okay. This is it. Here we go."  
George walked along beside him as Jack made his way to the interrogation room.  
  
Outside the door Jack seemed to come out of his trance. He was animated, eager, almost delighted at the prospect of what he was about to do. For a moment George felt a chill and it crossed his mind to call the whole thing off. This is madness, he thought.  
"I'll show her this," Jack waved the sheets of paper. "I'll let her start talking. Then I'll get you everything you want. Even the stuff she doesn't want us to know."  
"Jack. I don't have to remind you. The last time I let you interrogate somebody; you shot him in the heart. I'm letting you do this but I hope I'm not making a mistake," George warned.  
"No mistake, George," Jack promised  
"All right," George agreed. "Good luck."  
  
So far it was going well. Nina was talking. She seemed almost eager to talk. George stood alongside Michelle as they watched the monitors and listened to what she had to say. She wanted to go to Visalia. Her contact was there. This is going to be okay, George thought. She'll tell us what we need and Jack won't kill her and everything will work out okay.  
Then Nina stopped talking, and Jack kicked the table away.  
Christ, she doesn't even react! Not even a flinch! George couldn't help but admire her calmness. But what will Jack do?  
Then Nina said something and she smiled, almost sweetly at Jack, and suddenly Jack went for her throat, and in a matter of seconds he had her pinned to the wall.  
Oh fuck! I knew it! I knew this was gonna happen! George ran as fast as he could towards the locked steel door of the interrogation room.  
"Open it!" he screamed to the guards. "Open the door!"  
He rushed inside, taking it all in - the table lying on its side, the dust and some small pieces of debris from the explosion still on the floor, and Jack Bauer had Nina by the throat and she was pinned up against the wall, and he was choking her. He was killing her!  
And she's in my freaking custody, Jack!  
"Jack!" George yelled. "Jack! Let her go! Now!"  
It was like trying to call off a mad dog. It was probably a hell of a lot easier to call off a mad dog.  
  
But Jack, for some strange reason, did as he was told and stepped away from her. Nina fell back down onto the chair and sat there, choking, coughing, and for the first time since they'd brought her in she didn't seem so sure of herself.  
George didn't wait to see if she was okay. He didn't want to know. He hauled Jack out of the room and spun him around.  
"All right! You're done! Get outta here!"  
"Why?"  
"Why?! Because you've lost it! That's why!" George yelled.  
"George, right now she thinks she's won the lottery. She's in control. You want her to tell the truth, you take that away from her."  
"By killing her? Yeah, that'll work!" He couldn't help laughing.  
But Jack was insistent. "No. By giving her someone to answer to. Someone to be afraid of. She has to believe that I'd be willing to put my revenge in front of finding this bomb."  
"And you're telling me you're not?" George couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
"George. It had to look like that," Jack tried to explain. "Look at me. There's no emotion here."  
George looked. Madness maybe, but yeah, no emotion.  
"Now, look at her," Jack pointed to the monitor. Nina was visibly shaken - in pain and very frightened. He could see the fear in her eyes and in the way she breathed. There was no doubt in her mind Jack could and would kill her.  
"Let's say for the time being you've made your point. What would your next move be?" George asked, still doubtful.  
"You need to let me go back in there. Show her that I have the power to do anything I want to her," Jack said.  
"If I let you go back in there, you've got. . . . "  
"All I need is five minutes," Jack cut him off.  
She could die in five minutes, George thought. But then again she could tell us everything we need in five minutes. She probably knows that. If she knows – knew – Jack as well as she did. And she knew him very well.  
"Yeah," George nodded. He still wasn't sure, but what the hell, he'd nothing to lose.  
"Thank you," Jack said and opened the door.  
  
When Jack pulled the gun and held it to Nina's head, something told George he wouldn't do anything. He stood beside Michelle and both of them watched through the video feed, and his heart almost stopped when Jack fired two shots into the wall inches from her head and asked her again, screaming at her this time – who is the man in Visalia? He breathed a sigh of relief when Jack lowered his weapon. They had what they wanted – confirmation that her contact was Mamud Faheen. It was all they could get for now. They were going to have to take her to Visalia. At least she'll be out of my sight, George thought.  
  
Jack was getting ready to leave. George handed him the paperwork.  
"Just got a team on the ground in Visalia, and more coming in from Fresno," he told him. "Division's loaned us some men, so I'm sending Miller along with you."  
"I can handle her myself," Jack said.  
"That's not what I'm worried about."  
"George, do you really think I'd sentence millions of people to death just for the satisfaction of killing her?" Jack asked.  
George stared at him. Of course I do. I know you Jack. I know how much you hate her. She killed your wife, for Christ's sake! I was there that night. I remember how we had to talk you down and haul you off her and stop you from shooting her there and then. Maybe I should've let you. Maybe we wouldn't be in this mess now and you'd have gotten your revenge and you'd have the peace of mind you obviously don't have now, and maybe I wouldn't be dying. Then again, maybe not.  
"I'll do my job," Jack said.  
"And I'm just sending Miller along to make sure of that," George replied.  
  
He covered his mouth with his handkerchief as another bout of coughing doubled him over.  
"You should go be with your family," Jack told him.  
George laughed, dismissing the idea, and the obvious sympathy in Jack's voice.  
"You should get on a plane," he told him.  
  



	4. Family Reunion

Chapter 4 – Family Reunion.  
  
_You should go be with your family."_ Jack had said to him before leaving. The words rang in George's ears as he went back upstairs and he felt a weariness creeping over him and into him that made his heart ache. Family? What family? He hadn't seen or heard from his ex-wife in a long time – several years in fact. Not since she'd called him one day out of the blue to tell him that she was moving to Phoenix and from now on he was to send the alimony cheques there.  
  
Family meant nothing to him now. He'd been caught up in work for the last few years. Being an administration director had taken up so much of his time that there was nothing left over and he'd been content to leave it at that back then. He was doing well, his promotion prospects looked good and he was content with his life. Then the whole Drazen case occurred and Nina had been exposed as a traitor and he'd taken a reprimand and a demotion on Palmer's orders, with the promise that he'd be promoted again within the year and then transferred to D.C. Well, that hadn't happened. Somebody, somewhere had stopped him. Probably someone at Division. It could even have been Jack or Nina – both of them knew about the money – both of them had threatened to expose him. He'd denied it of course, but all it took was a word here or a murmur there, and even if there was no hard evidence that he'd stolen the money, suspicion alone was enough to put a halt to his promotion.  
  
Now, it didn't matter. No matter how much money he had or how far up the ladder he'd wanted to go. It didn't matter a damn anymore. He had nothing left. Not even time. But there was one important thing that he had to do. He reached for the phone and dialed a number.  
  
Michelle briefed him on Jack's latest antics. Jack had drugged Ed Miller in the truck en route to the airport and he'd gotten on the plane with Nina, leaving Miller behind with an enormous headache.  
  
George stopped half way up the stairs. This is not what I want to hear right now, he thought. This was Jack being true to form. Nothing ever changed with him.  
  
"Please tell me you're kidding," he asked Michelle, but she wasn't.  
  
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.  
  
"They're on a plane to Visalia. There's nothing anybody can do except hope that his impulse for revenge doesn't cloud his judgment."  
  
"Cloud his judgment? You mean like drugging one of our agents?"  
  
"What can I say? The guy's a little crazy. That's why I didn't want him here in the first place. But. . . .he gets results. . . and we need some pretty big results, so. . . " he left the rest unsaid.  
  
As he walked away from an incredulous Michelle – she'll learn, he figured – he felt a pain in his chest. Not a heart attack, which was the first thought that came into his mind. But something was burning him - chafing his skin. Not overly painful but really annoying. Like his shoulder holster was too tight and it was rubbing against his skin. But I'm not wearing it, he remembered. He'd switched to the more discreet, more compact, pancake holster months ago - and his holster and sidearm were in his desk drawer in his office where he'd left them.  
  
He unbuttoned his shirt to take a look and saw the lesion spreading round towards his armpit. It was red and raw and looked as though it was about to start bleeding at any time. For a couple of minutes he'd forgotten. Not completely forgotten – you couldn't completely forget something like that - but he'd successfully managed to push enough of it to the back of his mind where he could keep it from constantly rising up and terrifying him.  
  
Now it had returned - reminding him, terrifying him and he closed his eyes and wished that it would go away.  
  
Division called, looking for an update on their condition and status.  
  
"Why don't you come by and see? It's not the Ritz-Carlton but it's working for us," George said, calling their bluff in the hope that they wouldn't come over, knowing full well that if they did, and they assessed the condition of the building they might shut them down and move everyone over there, and run things from there. More importantly, they might - no - they would - realize his condition and they'd stand him down.  
  
His other line rang and he was glad for an excuse to get to get rid of Division. It was Michelle, looking up at him through the glass walls of his office as she spoke. She told him that Jack was about to land in Visalia but that they hadn't gotten a location for Faheen yet. They would get that when they arrived.  
  
"Stay on it," he told her, looking back down at her. "I'll be down in a minute."  
  
His hands were shaking as he unfolded the small slip of paper and looked at the phone number written on it. He picked up the phone and dialled the number, his heart hammering in his chest as he listened to it ringing - waiting for ever it seemed until a familiar voice said hello.  
  
"John. It's your father."  
  
No answer.  
  
"Hello? You there?"  
  
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm here."  
  
George could hear the hostility and wariness in his son's voice.  
  
"Look . . I . . . I know it's been a while. . ."  
  
"Two years," John informed him.  
  
"That long?" It couldn't be, George thought.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well, that's my fault."  
  
This was met with more silence. George tried again.  
  
"Look John, I'd really like to see you today."  
  
"I can't."  
  
"It's important."  
  
"Dad, listen, you can't just call me out of the blue and expect me to jump because, first of all, I don't really want to see you, and even if I did, I can't. I'm busy."  
  
"Look, I know I screwed up, and I understand if I'm not your favourite person in the world right now, but can you just set that aside and do this one thing for me? I need you to come to CTU. You know where that is, right?  
  
"I can't do it today, Dad. I told you I'm in the middle of something."  
  
He didn't know how to get through to him. Didn't know the words to say that would break the barrier between them.  
  
His own silence made John suspicious.  
  
"Just tell me what's going on?" he asked.  
  
"I need to see you, John. That's what's going on!" Desperation made him angry. He couldn't help raise his voice.  
  
"You know what? You're not listening to me, Dad," John yelled back. "I'm in the middle of something right now. I'll call you when I have a chance."  
  
The phone went dead in George's hand and he knew that he'd screwed up again.  
  
He took another long drink from a bottle of cold water and checked in with Michelle. The video and audio feeds were up and running and everything was ready. It was just a matter of hanging around and waiting, and not allowing himself to think about everything else that was running through his mind. He forced himself to concentrate on the here and now and pushed the rest of it away, hoping, at least for a little while, that it would stay there.  
  
Jack was taking Nina to the address - a thrift shop - where she'd told him Faheen would be. They had thirty seconds for her to make contact and confirm Faheen's identity before storming the building and taking him alive. Any less time and he'd kill Nina – no great loss there – but then he would turn the gun on himself, and they couldn't allow that to happen because Mamud Faheen knew the location of the nuclear bomb.  
  
"Do we know what dialect of Arabic Faheen speaks?" he asked her.  
  
Michelle nodded. "Yeah. Nina gave us that information."  
  
Of course she did, George thought. She'll give us the little stuff easily enough but what about what's important? Will she give us that? Maybe. She wanted this pardon.  
  
"Mr. Mason?"  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by someone telling him that Tony was on the line for him. He picked up the phone.  
  
"Yeah Tony."  
  
He listened as Tony updated him on the lead he was following. Reza Naiyeer was now saying that this big-shot company owner, and his soon- to-be father-in-law, Bob Warner, was the one who had dealings with the terrorists connected to the nuclear bomb, and Warner, naturally, was denying this.  
  
"Bring them both in," George told him. "We'll separate them and turn up the heat."  
  
"Are you giving me the okay to arrest these people?" Tony asked.  
  
"If they don't come willingly, that's exactly what I'm doing."  
  
"On what charge?"  
  
Give me a break Tony, George thought. Use your initiative and think of something yourself for once.  
  
"I don't care if it's jaywalking," George said. "Just bring 'em in."  
  
He left Michelle to transmit the audio translation back to Jack. If anything happened, if the whole thing went sour, she would call him down. He waited upstairs in his office, as another coughing fit caused the sweat to break out on his brow and tears to fill his eyes. He quickly wiped them away and took a deep breath as his son was brought in.  
  
"Anything else I can do for you, George?" the agent asked.  
  
"No, Ken. I got it from here."  
  
He took the keys and spun John around and began to un-cuff him.  
  
"I'm sorry, John," he apologized as he did so. He could tell the kid was pissed at him. Nothing new there, George thought.  
  
"Hey, I told you I needed to see you, right?" He figured making a joke of it would help then realized it wouldn't. The kid was really pissed.  
  
John walked over to the window, rubbing his wrist where the handcuffs had cut into him. He looked down at the control room below.  
  
"What happened here?" he asked.  
  
"Never could get you to watch the news, could I?" George laughed.  
  
This made him even madder. "If you're looking to bond here, Dad, having your son arrested probably isn't the best way to do that."  
  
George looked at him. No son, I'm not trying to bond with you. I gave up on trying to bond with you years ago, when you never forgave me for leaving your mother. I don't need you to forgive me and I don't need to bond with you. I just need to see you.  
  
"I don't have much time, John. Things are happening here. I. . . . I can't go into it fully. . . "  
  
That set him off again. He backed away keeping his arms folded in front of him. Classic posture, George noted - hostile, yet defensive. Showing aggression towards me and protecting himself emotionally from me at the same time.  
  
"You never could go fully into much of anything. Could you, Dad?"  
  
"Well, it's my line of work," George explained, as he had done so a hundred - a thousand - times before.  
  
"That's just something you should look into if you decide to start a second family," John said.  
  
That's what he thinks, George realized. He thinks I had him arrested and brought in here to tell him that I'm getting married again! That I'm going to be a father again! He couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation.  
  
"That's not gonna happen," he told his son.  
  
John just stood there, and George wasn't sure if the kid believed him or not.  
  
"Look – I understand if you're angry. . . ."  
  
"I'm not angry, Dad. I don't care," John told him.  
  
There was nothing he could say to that. Okay, that's my fault and it's too late now to change things, so I'll just get this over and done with. His shoulders slumped as he took his wallet out of his pocket.  
  
"I got this bank account," George told him. "Uh. . .nobody knows about it. And. . . .well. . . .it's got a couple of hundred thousand dollars in it. I want you to have it."  
  
He handed him the slip of paper with the details on it, explaining that he's already made arrangements to transfer the money. He didn't tell John where it had come from. It was dirty money, but it was his crime and maybe what happened this morning was his punishment for stealing it in the first place. He'd let it sit there for years, afraid to touch it even though he knew it was safe. It could never be traced from a dead drug dealer to him. Not after all this time. Now, it was no use to him and, if nothing else, John deserved something in return for having had to live without a father all these years, and for having been stuck with one who never really cared that he had been absent.  
  
John backed off again. "Let me get this right, Dad. Are you bringing me here to tell me you're giving me money? What did you expect me to do? Huh? You expect me to give you a hug? Dad, I don't want the money."  
  
"Well, then give it to your mom. I'm sure she does," he looked up at his son. "Cause the thing is. . . . I'm not gonna be needing it."  
  
"Why is that?" John started to laugh but stopped when he saw the look on George's face.  
  
How can I tell him? I don't know what to say. I don't know the correct words.  
  
"Listen," John was serious now. "You don't bring me here, offer me a small fortune then not tell me what's going on."  
  
George looked up at his son. He's what - twenty-seven, twenty-eight now? He's turned out a handsome kid. Typical blond-haired, blue-eyed, California surfer type. He would look out of place in a suit so he sure as hell doesn't take after me. Well, at least he has my eyes. He stared into his son's eyes. It was like looking into a mirror of his own, and he realized then that he loved him. He had always loved him, from the day he was born. He might not have shown it all that much, but he did love him.  
  
"I'm dying, John," he told him.  
  
John shook his head. "You son of a bitch."  
  
George waited, knowing it would take a few moments for it to sink in.  
  
"Is it cancer, or something?" John finally asked.  
  
George winced, not wanting to go into the details, or the fact that he had so little time.  
  
"Something like that, yeah."  
  
He watched the kid's expression. Watched it change from anger and disbelief, to acceptance and then finally to grief. He couldn't handle watching his son grieve for him. He didn't deserve it, and it wasn't important anymore. But keeping him safe was.  
  
"Look, John. . . .something bad is gonna happen in Los Angeles today and I need you to leave town."  
  
"You want me to leave?! Now?!"  
  
"Just go to Phoenix and stay with your mom for a little while. I mean it, John. It's dangerous to be here."  
  
He took his arm, trying to comfort him and at the same time push him away. He walked him towards the door.  
  
"I can't explain it to you, but you just have to go. Okay? Just go."  
  
"Dad, listen. I don't. . . .this doesn't matter. . . ."  
  
Then before he knew it, John was crying and he was reaching out to him, and George put his arms around him and held on to him tightly. He hadn't done this since the kid was ten. It almost felt good. It almost felt right. It would have been right, but not under these circumstances.  
  
"You're a good kid," he told him, slapping him on the back. "I hope I didn't mess you up too bad."  
  
John held him more tightly now, refusing to let go. George knew he was losing it and broke away.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, his voice becoming hoarse now and he could barely speak. He couldn't steady it.  
  
"Yeah," John told him, his voice also hoarse now too.  
  
"Get out of here, all right?" George pushed him roughly towards the door, almost shoving him out of it, and turned away. The last thing he wanted was his son to see him crying. But John wouldn't go. He stood there, trying to speak.  
  
"Just get out of here, okay!" George yelled.  
  
John fled, down the stairs and away, and George couldn't watch him go because he knew he would never see his son again.  
  
"Oh, God" he cried aloud, breaking down completely, and this time it was the pain in his soul that doubled him over.  
  



	5. Anger Management

Chapter 5 – Anger Management  
  
The final death toll from the bombing of CTU was thirty dead and seventeen wounded, with two of those still critical. And very soon I'll make it thirty-one, George thought. Well, not really. The explosion isn't what killed me but I guess I'll probably figure somewhere among CTU's death toll today. At least I hope I will. I hope that one day someone puts a nice little plaque up on the wall with my name on it. One day when all of this is over and they get around to getting this place re-built.  
He looked at it - at the damage and the dust. Most of the clear-up crew had gone now but a few still worked on, finishing off what they could before the reconstruction would begin. Tomorrow maybe, if the nuclear bomb didn't go off and destroy Los Angeles. If that happened, one little building wouldn't matter very much to anyone.  
It still looked as though it could collapse at any time, but at least everything's working now thanks to everyone who had survived, and their hard work and efforts to continue doing their job. The building might have been wrecked and half of the people were gone but those who were left had bravely picked up the pieces and carried on regardless of their own pain and suffering. He was surprised at himself when he realised that he felt a sense of pride when he thought about them because without them there wouldn't be a CTU.  
He took a moment to remember what it was like before. Before they'd been bombed, before thirty of his people had been killed, before. . . . . before he'd been stupid enough to walk into that warehouse in Panorama City this morning.  
He put the thought away, along with the ones of John and the last look that his son had given him. No, he couldn't go there now.  
  
Tony arrived back with Bob Warner and Reza Naiyeer. Warner's daughter, Marie, Reza's fiancée, was in tow.  
"Find anything new?" George asked Tony.  
"No, just what I told you on the phone. The two men are contradicting each other but there's definitely a tie to Syed Ali."  
George nodded. "It looks more and more like Ali is at the centre of this thing. I just hope all this brings us closer to finding the nuke."  
"Just tell me how hard I can push them," Tony asked.  
"As hard as you have to. Stick bamboo shoots under their fingernails. Get what they've got. Time's running out," George told him. For me, too.  
"Okay," Tony nodded.  
  
Ten minutes later Tony was back.  
"George, Bob Warner has just told me that he does deliveries for the CIA."  
"CIA? Did you check it out?"  
"No. I was about to call his liaison, but it looks like he's got a legitimate contact code."  
"If that's the case, then it mean's that Reza's lying to us."  
  
"I don't know," Tony shook his head. "I mean, I pushed Reza pretty hard. I think he's telling the truth."  
"We have to push a little harder that usual today. So dig in and see what you can find out. Then let me know," George turned away, feeling sick again.  
"Mr. Mason?" Michelle called him, holding a phone towards him. "It's the sheriff's station in Newhall. They're holding Kim Bauer."  
Fuck! He'd forgotten all about Kim, and his promise to Jack to get her safely out of the city! Then he realised what Michelle had said. They were holding her?  
"Why?" he asked.  
"She's been charged with murder."  
Oh great! This is all I need! On top of everything else Jack's idiot daughter is in trouble again! He should lock her in the goddamn basement before he goes out!  
George regretted that thought immediately. Kim had lost her mother at the hands of Nina Myers in this building, while under his command and in his safe-keeping, after the safe house she was being held in had been compromised. Kim had almost lost her own life as well on that day, eighteen months ago.  
Right now Kim's father was on a plane travelling back to CTU. With Jack was Mamud Faheen who was refusing to tell them where the nuclear bomb was, so they were bringing him back here for further interrogation. Also with him was Nina Myers - the woman who had killed her mother. George couldn't resist thinking that a little murder charge was probably nothing compared to that, but. . . . .  
"Call Jack," he ordered, taking the phone from her. "This is George Mason. Who am I speaking to?"  
  
Michelle got Jack on the other line, patching him through, as he waited to speak to the cops. She put the call on speaker and he heard Jack tell her to get him on to it.  
"I'm already on with the precinct, Jack," George told him. "We're working on it."  
"George," Jack was speaking directly to him now. "Obviously there's some kind of mistake. I need you to straighten it out and get Kim out of LA!"  
Jack sounded frantic.  
"I'll take care of it," George told him, rolling his eyes heavenwards. He really couldn't be bothered dealing with Kim Bauer now, but he didn't have much choice.  
  
They got Kim on the line and let her speak directly to her father. George listened in as she explained the situation to Jack.  
She'd taken her employer's car, and his daughter, and she was heading out of LA when they'd been pulled over for speeding. The cop who'd stopped her had found a woman's body in the trunk.  
While Kim was explaining this, George could hear Nina in the background, she was yelling at Faheen in Arabic. Michelle began translating for him. Nina was threatening him – telling him that U.S. forces were rounding up his family right now and that they would be killed if he didn't reveal the location of the bomb.  
Then, suddenly, Jack was screaming at Nina, and everyone was yelling and something was going down on that plane. What the hell was going on? George listened as best as he could through the speakers.  
  
Nina had killed Faheen. He'd told her the location of the bomb and then she had slit his throat and he'd died almost immediately. Jack was still yelling at her and she was telling him that she knew the location of the bomb and she'd only tell him if he took her to San Diego and got her civilian transport to Sao Paolo. Then she would tell him everything.  
  
"George, are you getting any of this?" Jack yelled.  
"Yeah, I am."  
"This is your call."  
George took a deep breath. "Look, we're running out of time and I don't like being dicked around!"  
"We can bring her to CTU and try and press her there," Jack suggested.  
"No. It'll take too long. Take her to San Diego."  
"Fine."  
George rubbed his forehead. This was getting very hard to deal with.  
"Sir?" Michelle called him. "I think I may have found something in the Faheen recordings."  
  
"What'd it say?"  
"A name. Marko Khatami. Listen."  
She replayed the tape and he listened carefully. It did sound like that, but he couldn't be one hundred per cent sure.  
"Did you try cross-referencing?" he asked.  
"Yeah. He is connected to Syed Ali."  
  
It was all beginning to fit, but they were still getting nowhere, and they would get nowhere, if something wasn't done soon. George looked around, feeling the desperation in everyone, himself included. It was time to do something instead of just getting dicked around. He noticed Naiyeer chatting to his fiancée. They were talking quietly to one another. George took off his jacket and set it carefully down on a nearby table. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and quickly walked over to the happy couple.  
"Mr. Naiyeer?"  
"What?" Reza looked up.  
Something snapped in George and he decided that he'd had enough. He grabbed Reza by the throat and shoved him against the wall.  
"Who's Marko Khatami?!" he yelled.  
"I've no idea!" Reza yelled back.  
"Who is he?!" George screamed, choking him harder, feeling the anger and frustration surge through him. He wanted to strangle the little bastard. He wanted to choke him to death with his bare hands. His grip tightened and it felt good.  
  
Reza was gasping, Marie was screaming and Tony was trying to pull him off, but George held on. He couldn't take this much longer – this getting nowhere! He'd had enough of it! He wanted someone to talk – to tell them where this goddamn bomb was! They'd been screwed about long enough today, and if they didn't get something soon they'd be finished! It was time somebody started talking! His hands tightened around Reza's neck.  
  
He felt Tony grabbing him and pulling him away. Someone else pulled Reza back, separating them. No, he thought, let me at him! He struggled, but Tony, although smaller than him was stronger, and now it was he who was pinned against the wall. He tried to hit Tony, but he wouldn't let go.  
"Just cool it! Cool down!" Tony yelled at him, still holding him. Still stronger than him.  
He tried again to break free from Tony but then he started to cough again. It felt like he was the one choking now, he could barely get a breath.  
"Let me go," he gasped, going limp.  
Tony released him, and next thing he knew he was doubled over a desk and he couldn't stop coughing, and every one was watching.  
Oh Christ! George felt himself shaking like a leaf. It was all he could do to walk away from them as they watched, puzzled by his outburst. He knew what they were thinking. This was so out of character for him. Usually he was more careful, more controlled. The fear of getting into trouble with Division always kept him from assaulting suspects. Hey, I've changed in the last few hours! Live with it!  
He barely made it to the bathroom where he almost collapsed, the adrenaline and the nausea almost overpowering him. He leaned over the toilet and threw up.  
  
Five minutes later he was still on his knees crouched over the toilet bowl, but there was nothing left in his stomach for him to throw up. He dry-heaved for what seemed like forever. His stomach muscles were aching with the effort. He was bathed in sweat and he was as weak as a kitten. He groaned aloud. This was killing him. Oh, God.....please....I wanna die, he pleaded as he heaved again and again. I can't stop this. I can't do it. He knew that soon it would be worse – much, much worse.  
Finally he stopped retching, and his legs were shaking as he forced himself to get up and walk to the sink. Someone was standing there. It was Shipler. He had heard him throwing up. George groaned inwardly. Word about his condition would get out real fast now and once Division got wind of it he was out.  
"I'm sorry," he shrugged, mumbling an apology and hoping that would work. "Don't know what hit me."  
Shipler just looked at him and walked out, and he rinsed out his mouth and splashed cold water over his face. He ached all over. Slowly he dried his face and took the bottle of anti-nausea pills out of his pocket.  
"Shit!" He only had about half a bottle left. He was probably overdosing on them but he needed them. He took one and swallowed it down with a mouthful of water from the tap just as Tony walked through the door and informed him that there'd been an explosion on board Jack's plane.  
  



	6. Symptoms

Chapter 6 – Symptoms  
  
"They don't know what caused it, but they've lost an engine and the pilot's requested clearance to make an emergency landing," Tony told him as they ran back to the control room.  
This day can't get any worse, can it? Yeah, it probably can, George told himself.  
He sat down beside Michelle just as Jack called him on the radio.  
"George?"  
"Jack? What's happening there?"  
"We're going down! The pilots don't know what's going on! It felt like some kind of explosion! We're losing all kinds of power up here!"  
Jack went on to tell him that they were going to attempt a crash landing and gave him the co-ordinates of a soft riverbed that the pilot was aiming for.  
"Did you get that?" Jack asked.  
He glanced over at Michelle for confirmation. She finished typing in the numbers and nodded to him.  
"Yeah," George told him. "We got it."  
He listened as Jack frantically begged Nina to give them the location of the nuke before they crashed in case they didn't make it. She refused.  
"Jack?" George cut in. "Can she hear me?"  
"Hold on, I'll put you on the speaker."  
"Nina, the deal you asked for is in place. You got your pardon from the president. What more do you want?"  
"Even if I survive this, Jack's gonna kill me anyway."  
And who could blame him, George thought.  
"That's what Phillips is there for," George told her. "He'll protect you."  
"He can't protect me from Jack!" Nina yelled back. George could hear the terror in her voice.  
Then Jack was speaking again. "Nina, all I want is the location of the bomb. I give you my word I will not harm you in any way!"  
"I don't believe you!" she told him.  
Then George could hear Rick Phillips yelling at her. "Where is the bomb?!"  
"Rick! Holster your weapon!" Jack ordered.  
Phillips shouted again. "At least do one last good thing with your life!"  
What the. . . . ? George realised what was happening. Phillips had attacked Nina.  
"Hey! Phillips!" George shouted. "What the hell's going on?!"  
Thankfully Jack managed to talk Phillips off her and he must have sat down again because all went quiet then. I'm gonna destroy him, George thought. His ass is toast when he gets back here!  
Then Jack was calling him again and telling him that they were going in, that they weren't going to make it to the co-ordinates he'd given them and the plane was going down now. Then the radio went dead. All they could hear was the hiss of white noise.  
  
George sat there stunned. Oh God! This nightmare doesn't end! He glanced at Michelle and Tony and saw the same horrified expressions on their faces. Were they dead? Jack and Nina? Could the pilot have landed them in one piece and with a minimum of damage and casualties? It wasn't likely, but he couldn't accept that Jack Bauer was dead.  
"Get the crash site co-ordinates from ATC and send in Search and Rescue," he quietly asked Michelle.  
  
George quickly swallowed another anti-nausea pill and joined Michelle at her workstation again. She was sitting there with her computer screen flat on her lap – she was searching the satellite imagery that they'd received, and she looked up as he approached. He could see that she was exhausted and probably still in shock after they'd lost radio contact with Jack's plane. But she was still doing her job, he noticed, and he found himself respecting her all the more for that.  
"These images were taken around the time that the pilot reported the explosion," she told him.  
George stood behind her and looked down at the screen. It showed a white streak across it. He knew what it was immediately.  
"God. They were shot down."  
"Yeah," Michelle said. "By some kind of ground-to-air missile."  
As he looked again at the screen two drops of blood fell onto it. George quickly pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his nose. He acted as though it was nothing out of the ordinary and ignored Michelle's horrified stare, first at the drops on her screen and then up at him, as he wiped the blood from his nose.  
"Can you compile a list of anybody that might have access to their flight plan?"  
"Okay," she said, still staring at him.  
"I think it's safe to assume that whoever it was doesn't want us to find the nuke and that if Nina didn't die in the crash they're probably gonna want to finish the job."  
Michelle nodded in agreement. "I have Search and Rescue scrambling now," she told him.  
"Make sure they're well armed and get me their ETA as soon as you have it."  
Still holding the handkerchief in front of his face, George walked away as though nothing had happened. Well that was embarrassing, he thought.  
  
Tony caught up with him before he got very far.  
"Hey, George! Richards told me that you had Warner and Naiyeer transferred to room seven."  
"That's right," George told him, trying to walk away, and trying not to let Tony see his nosebleed.  
"Well, I had them separated for a reason," Tony argued.  
"Yeah! Because I told you to!" George snapped. "And it's not working. So let's put them together and play them off each other, right?"  
He walked away.  
"I don't get you, George! You know, one minute you're running away trying to save your own ass," Tony caught up with him and spun him around to face him. "The next minute you're back here, trying to act as if you actually give a damn about anybody but yourself!"  
"Hey! Back off!" George yelled back, shaking Tony's hand off his arm.  
"No! I'm not gonna back off, George! Not today! Now, what's going on?"  
Shit! I have to tell him, George realised. He'll keep at me and if I don't shut him up he'll call Division and get them onto it.  
George took a deep breath. "Remember the warehouse in Panorama City? Weapons-grade plutonium? Airborne in the fire-fight?"  
"You were exposed?" Tony looked shocked.  
"Yeah," George nodded. "They said I'd be lucky if I made it through tomorrow."  
Tony shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Whether he was upset, or just concerned that he'd be in charge shortly and couldn't cope with that sort of pressure, George didn't know.  
Tony looked at him for what seemed like ages. "I don't know what to say, George. I'm sorry."  
George smiled sadly. "Me too."  
"Does anybody else know about this?" Tony asked.  
"Just Jack. You. Can we keep it that way?"  
Please let him agree. Please. He could tell that Tony was mulling it over – debating whether or not to run to the phone and call Chappelle. Don't let him do that, George prayed. I have to stay here. I've nowhere else to go.  
Finally Tony nodded.  
"Do you need anything? Is there something I can do?"  
"Just do your job," George told him quietly, feeling the relief wash over him. "Let me do mine."  
  
George walked away from him before Tony could start in with the sympathy and condolences that he knew neither of them could handle right now. Yet, in a way he felt relieved that he'd told Tony the truth. That surprised him because he'd never given a second thought to lying about something especially if it was going to keep him out of trouble. Well, there hadn't been much point in lying about this. Tony would have figured it out and at least this way he wouldn't say anything to anyone.  
But that wasn't all of it. It was a relief simply because someone else knew. That he wouldn't have to go through it alone. Tony would be there for him. He could trust him and he'd help if he could.  
And hey, he isn't blackmailing me! That makes a pleasant change! George wearily rubbed his face and dismissed his conversation with Tony. He thought about what he was going to do next. There was so much going on in his head right now that he didn't know which way to turn. Then he remembered – he'd put Warner and Naiyeer together and he wanted to talk to them.  
He walked down the corridor to room seven and indicated to the guard to open the door. He walked in. Warner was sitting at the table and Naiyeer was hunkered down on the floor, leaning against the wall.  
George got straight to the point.  
"So you're both claiming not to know Syed Ali, is that right?"  
Reza Naiyeer stood up and walked towards him. "It's not a claim. It's the truth."  
"Sit down," George told him quietly, his voice calm and controlled this time.  
"I'd rather stand," Reza said.  
"Sit down!" George shouted.  
But Reza still refused and George felt his temper rise again at this arrogant, rich kid who thought he could get away with anything. He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him down into the chair.  
"Where the hell do you think you are?!" George shouted in his face. "Wake up!"  
Reza stayed in his seat this time.  
"Six hours ago a cache of weapons-grade plutonium was found in a warehouse in Panorama City," George told them - hating them because he'd been there. Because he was the one that had found the stuff. He was its first casualty. "We believe a nuclear bomb was assembled there and it's set to be detonated at some point today."  
"A nuclear bomb?" Reza looked genuinely surprised and horrified. George conceded him that. But he could still be lying.  
"We also found this in the warehouse," he took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and slapped it down on the table between them. "What do you make of that, guys?"  
He waited as Bob Warner put on his glasses, picked up the sheet of paper and read it.  
"This is a bill of lading for our company," Warner said, staring at Reza.  
Reza took the paper from him and read it himself.  
"For a container sent to Syed Ali," George told him. "Which means that at least one of you is lying right now. Now, I'll let you work that out between yourselves. Whoever talks first gets immunity. It's a one time offer," he glanced at his watch. "It expires in ten minutes."  
With that, he walked out and left them to it.  
  
He took a seat beside Tony in front of the monitors. Tony had already set up the voice equipment that would tell by their voice patterns if one of them was lying. He was monitoring that as they listened while Warner and Naiyeer argued back and forth between them about who had authorised the shipment.  
"Naiyeer's levels are even. Warner's are spiking all over the place," Tony said.  
"Okay," George nodded. It look's as though Warner's the one hiding something, he figured.  
Suddenly Reza looked up towards the camera attached to the wall in the corner.  
"I can track this shipping order," he told them, all the while staring directly up at the camera. "Bob's code signature will show that he authorised the transaction order!"  
They could see that Bob was trying to get him to shut up.  
"Get him off me!" they heard Reza yell.  
George and Tony ran into the interrogation room behind the two guards who restrained Bob.  
"The database is at the office. I'll take you there," Reza told George.  
This is good, George thought. Now we're getting somewhere at last. He took Reza by the arm.  
"Step outside," he told him.  
Reza stopped and turned back. "I'm not taking the fall for you, Bob!"  
"Come on. Take it easy," George took him by the arm again and led him out of the room.  
  
"Mr. Mason. Tony." Michelle called to them as they walked a handcuffed Reza out of the interrogation room.  
"Yeah?"  
"All right. Jack's alive. Seven hostiles were killed in the operation but there's a complication."  
Sure there is. There's always a complication, George thought.  
"What?" he asked.  
"Nina Myers took Jack hostage. She's demanding to speak to the president."  
The stupid god-damn idiot, George quietly cursed. How the hell did he manage that? But then most likely it hadn't been so much Jack's stupidity as Nina's cunning. She'd probably seen her chance when the plane crashed and they were attacked and she'd taken it. He could imagine the surprise on Jack's face. Well, no he couldn't. He doubted there was anything Nina could do now that would surprise Jack.  
"Have Richards and MacCabee take him to Bob Warner's office," he ordered Tony and followed Michelle to arrange a secure line between Myers and President Palmer.  
  
At least Palmer isn't stupid enough to talk directly to her, George thought as he listened via the speakers to Nina speaking to Palmer's chief-of-staff, Mike Novick.  
"I'll tell you where the bomb is in exchange for immunity," Nina said.  
"The president's already granted you a total pardon," Novick replied.  
"Except this is a crime I haven't committed yet," he heard Nina say.  
"What crime?" Novick asked.  
"The murder of Jack Bauer. Add that to my pardon and I'll tell you where the bomb is."  
  



	7. Goodbye Jack

Chapter 7 – Goodbye Jack.  
  
Christ Almighty! Was there anything this bitch wouldn't do? Was there anything she wasn't capable of? George thought he'd seen and heard it all, especially from Nina, but to hear this stopped even him in his tracks. She wanted immunity in advance for murdering Jack Bauer!  
He stole a quick look at Tony's face. He looked as though he was going to be sick. And who could blame him? There but for the grace of God, George thought. Instead of Jack, Tony could just as easily be the one standing there at the crash site with a gun to his head and Nina Myers with her finger on the trigger asking for immunity prior to murdering him. I bet he's standing here realising just how lucky he is, George thought. I'm sure glad I never slept with her!  
Judging by her face, George noticed that Michelle's emotions seemed to be ranging from horrified to mystified, but then she didn't know the whole Nina Myers story. He wished he could take her to lunch tomorrow, or when this was all over, and he'd tell her all about the whole sordid mess. But that wasn't gonna happen for him. Maybe Tony would take her out and buy her lunch some day and tell her all about it. If he had any sense he would.  
Then Jack was speaking. "Please tell the president that I do not believe he has any other choice but to accept her deal."  
What a hero, George couldn't help thinking, all the while wondering if Jack had anything up his sleeve that would get him out of this mess. He doubted it.  
Then Palmer himself was speaking. "Is CTU on a secure line?"  
George put Nina's line on hold.  
"Yes, sir. This is George Mason. We're on a designated channel. Except for Michelle Dessler and Tony Almeida."  
"Do you have any alternatives to what she's asking?" Palmer asked him. "Any weaknesses that we might be able to exploit?"  
George thought about it. About what he knew of Nina – the Nina they'd worked with and the Nina she turned out to be –mentally racing over Nina's personnel file. Was there something, anything?  
"None. She's a survivor sir. She knows Bauer. She knows if she doesn't kill him now, he'll hunt her down and find her later."  
"So, in your assessment, Nina Myers is our best chance to stop this bomb?"  
Oh God, I wish there was another way. I wish I could find something that would stop this. He stalled for a second or two, hoping something would come to mind - hoping that maybe Jack would pull something out of his hat at the last minute. But there was nothing left - for Jack, or for him - and he knew that his next words were a death sentence for Jack.  
"Sir, she may be our only chance," George finally told him.  
  
There was silence on the other end of the line and George knew how much this was hurting Palmer. He and Jack had been friends since the day of the California Primary – since the Drazen family had set Jack up to assassinate him – he was Senator Palmer back then - in revenge for the deaths of their mother and sister. Jack's wife – Teri - and daughter Kim had been kidnapped to ensure that Jack would carry out the assassination, but Jack had foiled it and rescued his wife and daughter, only to have Teri murdered by Nina in what was supposed to be the safety of CTU.  
Christ, the baggage we all carry, George thought. He was still carrying some from that night too. He still blamed himself for not acting more promptly. Jack had called and told him that Nina was the mole. He hadn't believed him – Nina, for crying out loud! – and he'd told Jack that he needed proof before he could act. Yeah okay, he'd been covering his ass as usual, but you couldn't just walk up to someone and accuse them of being a mole without proof. Jack would have, but then Jack was like that. He wasn't.  
Then Jack sent him the footage of Nina slitting Jamey's wrists and everything fell into place. But he still hadn't been quick enough. Nina knew they were on to her and was in the process of escaping when Teri had come to thank her for all her help and support. They didn't know it then, but she'd shot Teri and left her dying in the transformer room while she tried to escape. Jack had stopped her in the parking garage and she'd been caught. It was only later when Jack went to look for his wife that they found out just what Nina had been capable of. George always wondered why she'd done it. Teri was no real threat to her. She didn't know enough about their job to know what Nina was up to. He always suspected that Nina had killed her out of simple jealousy. Nina had been the devoted mistress and Teri was the wife. That's maybe all it had boiled down to. That was why she'd killed her. Of course he'd never said that out loud. Jack probably would have shot him if he had.  
Now, it had come full circle and he was like a bystander at the side of the road, standing there gawping at the traffic accident on the other side. He couldn't help feeling a wave of sympathy for Jack.  
  
Palmer agreed and told Nina that if the information she gave them led to the discovery of the bomb she would be pardoned in advance of the murder of Jack Bauer. George could hear the disgust in Palmer's voice as he spoke.  
  
"Start talking Nina," Jack told her.  
"The bomb will be detonated by a man named Syed Ali," Nina sounded confident.  
"We know about Ali. We need to know where he is," George cut in.  
She gave them the address.  
  
"Contact the local law enforcement and have them set up a perimeter," he told Tony and then turned to Michelle. "Co-ordinate among the relevant agencies."  
He kept the phone line open and listened as Palmer warned Nina not to take any action until they'd located the bomb. Then he heard Palmer speaking to Jack, asking him if there was anything he wanted him to do.  
Jack just asked him to make sure his daughter was safe and to tell her that he loved her. Then he thanked the president.  
But Palmer couldn't let it go. Too much friendship was being lost, George reckoned.  
He heard Jack tell Palmer that he'd made the correct choice.  
"I'm sorry Jack," President Palmer told him before he hung up the phone.  
  
I'm sorry too Jack, George thought. And he genuinely was. He thought about this man he'd known for so many years. Jack was, in his eyes, a nutcase, a rogue – someone who had no place in CTU for he was as dangerous as the terrorists he hunted. He was never any more than a kick in the ass away from being a terrorist, in George's opinion, and yet when he thought about it, that made him the perfect operative. For Jack was a man who could think like a terrorist, who could almost become one, and who could get into the mind of one and understand him, even if he didn't condone him, but it was this understanding that made Jack so good. That, and his insanity, George reckoned.  
I could never be like that, he thought. I could never get that deep into their heads. I can arrest them and I can interrogate them, and I can push the papers and ride the desk, but I could never go out there and become one of them in order to catch them.  
Sure, he'd seen action in his time - especially when he'd been attached to the DEA, and more so when he first joined CTU, but even then it had been merely a means to get somewhere else. And make myself some extra money on the side, he remembered.  
Today had made him more aware of the mistakes he'd made in his career and in his life, and if he had the chance to do it all over again – what would I do? Would I do it differently? Would I be more like Jack? Would I have been more honest, more aware of the duty I have, and the honour I should have felt in doing that duty? Would I? Oh God, I wish I could have another chance. I wish I could have been a better person.  
George sat at his desk and thought about his life and the wrong turns he had made.  
I'm not bad. I'm not evil. Am I? I was just plain stupid all these years and I've wasted it all. I threw it away because I thought I knew what I wanted, and now. . . . now. . . all I want is to be able to make it right. To be able to help as much as I can before it's all taken away from me.  
Jack Bauer. I wish I could have been friends with him. Now it's too late. I wish I could sit down and have a beer with him and tell him how truly sorry I am that his wife died, and that a lot of that's my fault. I wish I could apologise to him and tell him that if I could change things I would. But it's too late. It's too fucking late.  
  
With a shake of his head, George set the phone down. He'd just been informed that the Search and Rescue team had taken Nina down. They'd been ordered to do this if it became possible. But not to kill her. Their instructions were clear on that point - they were only to shoot to wound and only then if that could be guaranteed – if they had a clear shot. Anything else was non-negotiable.  
How he did it, George didn't know, but Jack had managed to lure her out into the open, just far enough to give one of the team a clear shot. He'd taken it, hitting Nina in the arm and they'd secured her, and Jack was alive and well and now on a chopper on his way to Syed Ali's house. Hopefully Ali would be there and they'd get the exact location out of him and it would be all over soon.  
I might've known he'd get out of it, George thought. How many lives does that cat have? He's bound to have used up most of them by now but if he has a few left over maybe he could spare me one of them! I sure could use one right about now!  
He stared at the computer screen in front of him, seeing what was there but not taking it in – some memo or something - it wasn't important right now. What was important was the fact that Jack was alive and there was still hope. But at the same time it stuck in his throat. Jack was going to live and he wasn't. He wasn't. Nothing, no search and rescue team, would take out the thing that was gonna kill him.  
It's so fucking unfair, he thought. Jack would probably be happy to die. Jack probably wants to die. He's hardly been more than half alive for this past year and a half and he'd be more than delighted to meet death square on and welcome it like an old friend. Me? I don't want to die. I want to live. I want to . . . but I can't. And I'm so god damned terrified of it.  
He looked at his watch. It was a little before six o'clock. On any day but this one – any normal day - he'd be finishing up and thinking about heading home – not that there was much to head home to, but he would have dinner and a beer or two, occasionally a scotch, and he'd relax and well . . . . he'd just relax.  
Surprisingly, he was hungry. The thought of food hadn't crossed his mind all day and right now a part of him really wanted a well cooked steak with all the trimmings - hell, even a pizza would be the most delicious thing in the world right now - and a beer and, of all things, a cigarette. He hadn't smoked in years, hadn't even craved a smoke in years, but it's not like one is gonna kill me now, right?  
He took a sip from the bottle of water beside him and put all thoughts of food and alcohol and nicotine out of his mind. He'd be sick again shortly. The water stayed in his stomach about twenty minutes at the most, then it came up again and he was bringing up blood along with it now. That was definitely not a good sign.  
He could feel it inside of him now, not just the terror but the knowledge that he had maybe only hours left, maybe half a day at the most. No time at all, just a heartbeat in the timescale of a whole lifetime. And a wasted lifetime at that, he thought.  
Oh Christ! I envy you so much Jack. You think you have nothing. You've lost your wife, your daughter hardly speaks to you, and you're probably the most depressed person I've ever met. Yet, you have it all. You have a life, it's still there to be lived, and all you have to do is reach out and grab it and take it back and live it. That's all you gotta do Jack. You bastard!  
Me? I'd give up my soul for another day, another week. Another chance. I'd grab it by the balls and I'd take it, and I'd make the most of it, and enjoy it to the full, and I'd fucking live it! Now that I know how precious and fragile it all is.  
But when I stop and think about it Jack, I'm the most depressed person I know right now. Not you. You don't have a patch on misery compared to me right now. If you were facing what I'm facing you'd know all about it. You see Jack; I've got a good excuse. Hell, I've the best excuse in the world. I'm dying Jack. I mean - really dying. Not like you. Not facing the prospect of death around a corner. Hell no, I've turned the corner and I'm standing in the middle of the street and death's coming up on me real fast. It's still hiding from you - or you're still hiding from it – but either way, you're not facing it yet. Not like I am. It's somewhere in the future for you Jack, whereas I'm sitting here staring it right in the face.  
  
He looked up. Michelle was standing at the door, unsure whether or not to disturb him.  
"Sir? Jack's on his way to the Syed Ali house. Do you want me to patch a feed up here?"  
George looked at her blankly for a moment, still thinking about Jack and life and everything that he once thought was important to him.  
Michelle waited for an answer.  
"No. . . . I. . . uh. . . assume you have that under control."  
Michelle nodded. "Yeah, we do."  
He turned away from her, doubling over as he coughed. When he looked up again, she was still standing there.  
"Was there something else?" he asked her.  
Michelle stepped into the office. Her eyes filled with tears and sympathy.  
"I'm sorry," she told him.  
Ah, she knows. I wonder who told her. Tony? He didn't think so. Tony wouldn't. She'd probably just figured it out herself after he'd bled over her screen, and he'd caught her watching him a few times when he was coughing, and of course she knew all about the warehouse being a hot zone, so it wasn't hard to assume that she'd put two and two together. Shipler had probably said something too. Well, I kinda expected word to get out sooner or later. I wonder who else has figured it out by now.  
George shook his head, embarrassed by her sympathy, dismissing it as irrelevant. He smiled at her.  
"So, what are you gonna do tomorrow?" he asked, changing the subject.  
"What?" Michelle frowned.  
"If the bomb doesn't go off? Thought about it?"  
She shook her head.  
"No."  
"You'll probably come back? Work here?"  
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"  
"I don't know," George shrugged his shoulders. "Are you happy in this job? Hmm?"  
Michelle didn't answer him. She seemed puzzled by his question.  
"Believe it or not, I used to want to be a teacher. . . . .a long time ago," George explained. "You know why I didn't?"  
Michelle smiled and shook her head.  
"Cause the DOD offered me more money. That's how I made my decision," he leaned forward towards her with an almost conspiratorial look on his face. "So I made myself miserable, and I made everybody else around me miserable for an extra five thousand dollars a year. That was my price."  
"Sorry," Michelle said.  
  
George stood up and walked around to the front of his desk.  
"You know, Michelle, I'm not a big advice giver, but under the circumstances. . . . don't wait around for your life to happen. Find something that makes you happy. Do it."  
He put his arm around her as they walked to the door, feeling the warmth of her skin as his hand touched the nape of her neck. She didn't pull away, if anything she leaned closer towards him, and he took comfort in the warmth that came from her. It wasn't sexual – he'd never thought of her that way, well okay, maybe a little in passing, who wouldn't? But that wasn't how he was feeling right now because right now this small moment of human companionship and sympathy was all he had left. It was all he would ever feel again. Right now it was enough. Right now it was all he wanted.  
"Because everything else is all just background noise," he told her with a smile.  
Michelle nodded and smiled at him, embarrassed and sympathetic at the same time. God, she's beautiful, he thought. I hope she has the sense to take in what I told her. I hope she finds happiness and love and everything she's ever wanted in this life. Maybe she would. Maybe she'll remember what I've just said.  
George leaned forward towards her, and for a moment he was tempted to kiss her - just a peck on the cheek, nothing more. But it would only embarrass the hell out of both of them if he did that so he just stood there and looked at her lovely face for a second or two, committing her smile and her beautiful almond-shaped eyes to his memory even as he pushed her away towards the door.  
He watched her as she left, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear as she walked down the stairs. He went back to his desk and put on his glasses and stared at the screen in front of him.  
  



	8. N34

Chapter 8 - N34

There wasn't much else to do until they located Ali so George allowed himself a few moments respite sitting alone in his office. Both Tony and Michelle were keeping him updated on what was happening. Up until now he had been able to carry on almost as normal, but he knew that it was getting more difficult, and more blatantly obvious that he was ill. Tony and Michelle had conspired together, well at least he presumed they'd conspired together, maybe they hadn't - maybe they'd just done it independently out of respect. He laughed derisively to himself at the absurdity of that notion. Okay, maybe out of respect for his rank - it didn't seem likely that it was out of respect for him as a person - what had he ever done to deserve that? Or maybe it was just out of compassion. Either way, or for whatever reasons, they were quietly and without any fuss shifting some of his workload onto their more than capable shoulders. They were carrying on without complaint and allowing him to appear to be in charge - to appear to be in control of everything, while they dealt with their own work at the same time. He couldn't help but feel a gratitude to them that he had never felt before.

* * *

Jack had called - Syed Ali was gone from the house, but Bob Warner's other daughter, Kate, was being held there. Ali had apparently gone to a nearby mosque to pray. Oh yeah, good idea, George thought. Pray for your soul before you set off a bomb that's gonna kill millions of innocent people. 

Jack was now taking Kate Warner with him to the mosque as she was the only one who could identify Ali.

* * *

From his vantage point upstairs, George looked down and watched as everyone scurried around like worker ants - his worker ants. Despite the activity going on there was an air of calm that hung over them and served to disguise the ticking clock that told them they were running out of time. They worked efficiently, ignoring the emotions - the fear and the concern - that, no doubt were churning under the surface, and as he watched them he was so very proud of them. 

Tony has things under control, George observed. I won't let that go unnoticed. He deserves something more than just a 'well done'. Michelle does too. He smiled as he noticed her tuck that wayward strand of hair behind her ear for the umpteenth time as his phone rang, jarring him out of his observations.

* * *

I'm surprised they remembered I'm still up here, he thought as he reached for the phone. The only calls Tony and Michelle were filtering up to him now where ones they weren't authorised to deal with.

* * *

He sighed as he set the phone back on its cradle. This was one call he could have done without. He gave himself a moment to prepare and then dialled Jack's cell number. 

"Hey, it's George," he told him when Jack answered. "Uh. . . Baker should be on site any minute. I got a hard perimeter set up around the mosque."

"Okay," Jack replied. "I'll get back to you as soon as I get there, George."

"Um. . . . Jack, there's something I gotta talk to you about," George said warily. He had been dreading this part of the conversation.

"Just got off the line with the Sheriff's Department at Newhall. They were transporting Kim when they got into some kind of an accident."

"What are you talking about? What kind of an accident?"

George winced as he heard the concern and anger in Jack's voice.

"Don't worry. I mean, she's all right. She didn't get hurt or anything," he told him.

"What the hell was she doing with local authorities, George? Your people were supposed to pick her up!" Jack yelled at him.

"Well, by the time our guys got to the station they'd already moved her and, I dunno, I guess some local deputy was trying to be a big shot. . . . and claiming local jurisdiction for a murder charge. . . . "

"Where is she now?" Jack demanded.

George sighed. "Well, she ran off after the accident. I dunno, maybe she was trying to avoid the local police. . . . or whether she was just trying not to get brought back to LA. . . ."

"Damn it George! You told me you would take care of this! You gave me your word! Please, please find my daughter," Jack pleaded.

"Hey Jack!" George decided he'd had enough. There was a lot more important stuff going on. "If it's any consolation she is outside the projected blast radius."

"Just find her, George," Jack hung up on him.

Yeah, yeah, right. Just let me check my schedule for today, Jack. Ah, yeah. Here it is. I have it pencilled in between 'die from radiation poisoning' and 'locate the nuke'. Yep, it's written right here - 'find Kim Bauer'. Doing that now Jack, George thought sarcastically.

* * *

He set down the phone, stunned by Tony's message. Things were happening now, but it was all too fast and it was not going their way. If anything it was going wrong. Two more of his people were dead - Richards and Maccabee. And Reza Naiyeer was dead too. Tony informed him that a janitor had found their bodies and that Marie Warner was the number one suspect for the shooting. Tony contacted Jack and warned him that Kate Warner may also be a suspect now.

* * *

Syed Ali had tried to get out of the mosque but all his exits had been blocked and he knew he was trapped. He'd put his own clothes on another male and set him alight as a decoy and had hidden in a basement under the building. But Jack found him and they had pulled the cyanide capsule out of his tooth before he could kill himself. He was alive and not going anywhere.

* * *

George walked into room seven and took a seat opposite Bob Warner. His arm was aching and he held it as he sat down. 

"It's hard not to sit here and think that there must be some mistake even with the evidence you have," Bob said, more to himself than to George.

For a minute George didn't reply. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The pain in his arm was becoming unbearable now and it was all he could do to just remain upright. Bob's words rang in his ears, '_some mistake even with the evidence you have. . .'_

Tell me about it, Bob! You don't think that notion hasn't been running around and around in my head all day? You don't think every time the phone rings I'm not hoping that it'll be the Hazmat doctor calling to tell me that field tests are often way off base and that the dosage I received was enough to make me puke for a day but it wouldn't kill me?

Yeah, Bob. It is hard to believe, for both of us. All I gotta do is look at myself in the mirror, or count how many times I've had to run to the bathroom to throw up today, or catch a glimpse of pity in the eyes of a member of my staff to know that the evidence is stacked against me. Yet, like you, a part of me is hoping exactly that. That it's all a freaking mistake.

Yeah, I can't help but sympathise with you a little, Bob. I know how you feel. Your daughter is lost to you. If she isn't executed for treason then she'll spend the rest of her life behind bars. And your other daughter, Kate, is out there with one of my agents searching for the nuclear bomb that Marie helped plant in this city. And guess what Bob? Under the protective wing of Jack Bauer is not the safest place Kate could ever be!

So, it looks like we're both in the same boat, Bob. You and me. All the evidence is staring us right in the face and we're sitting here trying to pretend it's not. Go figure!

"It's black and white Bob," George told him. Trust me, Bob. It's black and white for both of us.

"Your daughter killed Reza and two of our agents and I need your help to understand what her connection to Syed Ali is."

"If I'd known she was involved I would have done something," Bob told him.

"And now that you do know, does it help explain any strange behaviour?" George looked at him. "Anything you can tell us will help."

Bob explained that while they were living in London her mother had died and that Marie ran away for a while.

"How long?" George asked.

"Three to four weeks. Then she wrote, said she was fine." Bob went on to explain that when she came back he didn't question her about where she had been or anything.

"No sense that anything had changed?" George asked. "Any fundamental difference?"

"She had become less politically inclined," Bob said. "She stopped talking about her causes - saving the wilderness, abolish the death penalty. . . "

"Well, that's precisely what happens when you're radicalised," George told him. "Handlers train you to stop talking about anything, keep it to yourself so you're better able to blend in with the background."

"Marie had handlers?" Bob looked horrified.

Michelle quietly opened the door and with a slight nod of her head indicated to George that she wanted to talk to him.

"Hey. Can it wait?" he asked.

She shook her head.

Damn, we were getting somewhere, George thought. He stood up and said to Bob. "I'll be right back with this."

* * *

Outside the door Michelle held a sheet of paper. "This scan just came in from the mosque. It's a burnt piece of paper fragment found in Ali's clothing. The only thing visible to the naked eye is in the lower left quadrant," she showed him the scan. "It looks like a piece of a number. A six . . . or an eight." 

"Are all our forensics people out in the field?" George asked.

"We just got Murdoch on loan from San Diego. He's supposed to be an expert with computer imaging. If anyone can see this, he can."

* * *

They walked over to the console where a guy in a weird hat was setting up his equipment. 

"How are you doing? George Mason," George introduced himself.

"Hey man! Randy Murdoch."

They shook hands and got down to business as Randy opened the screen.

"Any way to accelerate this process?" George asked him hopefully.

"My CPU's a lot faster than anything you've got," Randy told him. "If there's anything there I'll get it."

'Randy,' is it? George thought, taking another look up and down the young man in front of him.

When you get to my age son, he thought as he watched Randy strut his stuff, you'll find out that sometimes slower is a hell of a lot sweeter! George fought with himself to keep from saying it out loud. He bit his lip and somehow managed not to grin. Here was this kid, still wet behind the ears, bragging about. . .

No, don't, he told himself. Don't go there. You're only gonna start laughing - and never mind the fact that it'll probably hurt like hell - but they'll think you've finally lost it and then they will haul you outta here. And just think how embarrassing that would be. This is neither the time nor the place to get into a 'mine's bigger than yours' game. But, God, it's hard to resist.

Randy snuck a quick sideways glance at Michelle. So did George.

She really ain't that impressed, son. She's got way too much class for that. 'Sides, I think she's got a little thing going for Almeida so she won't even notice you. Just your bigger, faster CPU, and that ain't what she's looking for.

If I wasn't dying I'd pull it out and then we'll soon see who has the bigger, faster CPU! George bit his lip again, refusing to let the humour win. On any other day - any normal day - it would, and there'd be snorts of laughter from every direction, and then everybody'd be joking and threatening to pull theirs out, and there'd be a lot of jokes, mainly from the women about having to find it first, and poor Randy would be red with embarrassment the way new guys are, and . . . and. . . oh God, I'm really gonna miss this place.

* * *

"Okay. Great," George nodded, serious again, and turned to Michelle. "Where's Tony and the satellite feed Jack wants?" 

"In progress," Michelle told him.

And right there, right underneath all the pain and fear he was going through, George could still feel this tiny bubble of humour struggling to find its way to the surface. It wasn't much, but just for a second or two, it was a ray of beautiful, brilliant sunshine on this, his darkest of days.

He turned back to Randy again. "Thank you. Keep it up."

* * *

George checked in with Tony on the satellite feed update. He listened for a moment to Tony's side of the conversation and felt himself growing more and more annoyed as it became obvious that Tony was discussing the whereabouts of Kim Bauer. 

"Keep me posted," Tony quickly finished his conversation and hung up the phone when he realised George was standing over him.

"What are you doing?" George demanded, angrily glaring at him.

"Getting more men out there looking for Jack's daughter."

"After I specifically told you to divert all resources to the bomb?"

"Look, the satellite feed is happening. Right? I'm not using our resources. I was telling the sheriff to look for her," Tony explained.

"Tony, you're a resource! I don't want you to split your attention!" George yelled.

"I promised Jack I would do everything in my power to look for Kim. Just like you did," Tony said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at George and calmly emphasized his point.

"Kim is outside the blast radius! The rest of Los Angeles isn't! Stay focused on the bomb, Tony!" George yelled and then turned to the rest of the room. "That goes for everybody!"

He stormed off, heading up the stairs. He had seen the challenge in Tony's eyes and knew that he was making a power play. That crap about Kim had been just Tony's excuse to muscle in on him. George could see it. It was so obvious. He had trusted him and now. . . .

Now? Now what? What the hell am I thinking? Tony's just doing his job - juggling several things at once. Christ, I'm getting paranoid! Tony's the one that's keeping this place running - doing my work as well as his own. I should be thanking him not chewing him out!

He almost made it to his office before the pain in his arm stopped him and he leaned on the railing, gasping in agony as they all watched. He took a deep breath and fought the pain, at least until he could get up the stairs and close the door behind him.

* * *

So far the analysis of the piece of paper had turned up a letter and two numbers - N34. It wasn't much on the face of it. It could be anything - a partial license plate for a vehicle or an order number, or anything at all. There were thousands of possibilities. But it must mean something if it had been in Ali's possession. Michelle was already working on it.

* * *

Michelle answered the phone. She handed it to him immediately. It was Jack. 

"What do you have?" George asked.

"The bomb's at Norton airfield!" Jack told him. "They're putting it on a plane to fly it over the city!"

* * *


	9. We're Not Shutting Down!

Chapter 9 – We're Not Shutting Down!

George nodded as Michelle quickly pulled up the plans of the airfield.

"Norton's a medium-sized airfield," she read from the screen. "They do cargo, private aviation. Every plane's tail number begins with the letter 'N' and that's probably what this refers to. It's still only partial but it narrows down the search."

"Okay."

He still had Jack on the line.

"We're on our way," he told him, then hung up the phone and turned to everyone who had gathered around.

"We're moving units Bravo, Echo and Lima to Norton airfield where we have reason to believe the bomb is located. Call the FAA and have them ground all the flights out of Norton. In the event that they do get the plane in the air we wanna have two F16's at the ready to intercept. Get some bomb units and SWAT teams out there as well!"

For a second or two they just sat there.

"So, just move, everybody!" he yelled, fighting to keep his voice steady. "And remember, the _'no unnecessary contact'_ rule remains in place!"

CTU sprang into action and George disappeared back up to the relative sanctuary of his office, and for the first time today he allowed himself the hope that he would live to see this through.

"Hey guys, heads up!" George stood halfway down the stairs, leaning against the railing for support. "I just received a second confirmation from NSA in Oregon. The location of the bomb is indeed Norton airfield. Jack Bauer is en route. I want every available field agent over there _now_!"

He slowly, painfully climbed back up the stairs.

Jack's en route, he thought. I wish I was. I wish I was anywhere but here right now. Too much to think about, and too much time to sit and think about it despite how busy we are right now. If I was out in the field, I'd be concentrating on running the operation. I'd be organising search teams and sectors to clear. I'd be arguing with, and no doubt yelling at, local authorities on who's doing what. I'd be. . . . hell, I'd be doing my job. Really doing it. Not just sitting here wishing I was out there doing it.

But that's not exactly true, is it? No. I'd still be here. I'd still be sitting in this office, in command, waiting and worrying and probably thankful that I am here and not out there risking my neck, or my career.

Yet, he couldn't help wishing that he was doing just that. That he could be the hero who finds the bomb and saves the day, and then tomorrow they'd all go to O'Malley's, or maybe that new place around the corner, and everybody would be buying him drinks, and slapping him on the back, and telling him what a great job he did, and asking him how he found the bomb.

But the reality of it was that Jack Bauer would be the man everybody would be buying drinks for. Jack was the man whose back would be sore from all the hearty slapping, and he'd be half drunk – did Jack ever get drunk? – George didn't know. When he thought about it, he couldn't ever recall an occasion where they'd all gotten together after work for a good drinking session and Jack had ended up plastered on the floor. Hell, most times I was never even invited! But on the few occasions when he had joined in, he couldn't ever remember Jack, or anyone else for that matter, ever getting really drunk.

And the even grimmer reality – he wouldn't be there tomorrow. He'd be dead. Maybe they'll stop and raise a glass to me. Maybe they'll . . . . . ah fuck, what does it matter any more?

His phone rang and with a sigh he answered it.

George carefully wrapped the bandage around his forearm. The lesions had started out as blisters. Big, ugly, painful blisters that had spread over his arms and by the look of things were gonna appear everywhere. Thankfully his face was clear, so far, but the pain was freaking unbelievable - like a burn or a scald, maybe – but about a hundred times more painful, and about a hundred times more serious looking.

But hey, the upside is that I'm not running to the bathroom every five minutes to throw up!

He dialled Jack's cell, switching on the speaker and continued wrapping the bandage around his arm as he waited for Jack to answer.

"There's a new wrinkle, Jack," he told him. "How far are you from the airport?"

"We're looking at a couple of minutes," Jack replied. "What are you talking about? What kind of wrinkle?"

"There's a hostile US paramilitary unit standing between you and the bomb. Uh. . . a Coral Snake team headed up by Colonel Ron Samuels."

"Yes. It's the same unit that took out our plane," Jack lowered his voice. "What the hell is going on, George? Why is a US military unit aiding these terrorists?"

"Well, as far as we know they're not. The best we can make out, they wanna be the ones to secure the bomb and. . . for whatever reason. . . they're gonna treat everybody who stands in their way as an adversary."

"Well, just order Colonel Samuels to tell his team to stand down," Jack stated the obvious.

Oh, I just wish it were that simple, George thought, shaking his head. Something very fishy was going on with this whole deal, and it involved NSA. Eric Rayburn had been dismissed and now there was a rumour flying around that Roger Stanton, the head of NSA, had been arrested on President Palmer's orders, and was currently being interrogated.

"We were told they went dark three hours ago. They're a rogue unit, Jack. They're acting on their own authority."

"How do I find them?" Jack asked.

"I wish I could narrow it down for you . . . just somewhere at the airport there. I'm trying to get manpower up from Camp Pendleton."

"This is bad, George."

"Yeah, it is. Our best bet is still you getting past them to the bomb," George told him.

"Yes. I understand," Jack said and hung up. George could hear the concern in Jack's voice, along with the determination to do what he had to do. Die, if necessary. If that's what it took to stop this.

George thought fast. He'd seen it coming. How the hell am I gonna get out of this one? If it was Chappelle I could work him and convince him that we're okay – that I'm okay - but Hammond. Oh Christ! He hates me as much as I hate him and he'll relish the chance to stand me down.

As he went to find Tony, he remembered a comment Brad Hammond had made about him in front of everyone at Division - about how they never negotiated with terrorists unless they were George Mason! It was something Hammond repeated at every opportunity and it had done the rounds at Division, and at District, for months.

George also remembered the smirk on the bastard's face as he congratulated him on his demotion when he'd taken over as director of CTU. Ryan Chappelle may be a little shit but Hammond's a dangerous bastard and he's gonna love every minute of this.

"Tony, we've got a little problem," George said.

"What's up?"

"Brad Hammond from Division is on his way over here. They want to shut us down and run everything from over there."

Tony sat back in his chair and looked around. "We're up and running now."

"Um . . . not one hundred per cent. We're still having intermittent packet loss. Division's a little uncomfortable with the idea of us running an operation like this out of a. . ." he looked around. ". . . compromised location."

And with a compromised director, he thought.

Tony frowned. "I just don't have the time to give these idiots from Division the grand tour."

"I know."

"We're closing in on this."

"They're on their way so we just gotta deal with it," George told him.

But can I? Yeah, I have to. I don't have much choice.

He went back up to the office and checked his arm again. The bandages were soaking wet as the fluid and blood leaked through. He quickly replaced them and struggled into his jacket, barely able to get his arm into the sleeve.

Okay, I _can_ do this, he told himself as he knotted up his tie, took a deep breath and walked down the stairs. I can do this. It's what I do best. Isn't it?

Hammond was listening to – or pretending to listen to - Tony and Michelle as they explained that CTU was working just fine now, and that there was no need to shut them down. But Hammond wasn't buying it.

"Start to ship some of your people over to our offices," he ordered.

"What?" George confidently strode up to him. "And waste an hour and a half on transporting and set up, with a nuclear bomb ticking away?"

Hammond looked at him and George could see the smirk on his face. The bastard's still gloating, he thought.

"I was beginning to wonder if this place was running without a director," Hammond said.

"Hey, Brad! Good to see you!" George grinned cheerfully and shook his hand.

"George," Hammond replied, reaching for his arm and giving it a friendly squeeze.

Hold it together George, he ordered himself, and gritted his teeth as a flame of sheer agony shot up his arm. He willed it to go away and fought to keep from passing out as the pain refused to lessen. Jesus Christ! For a second he thought he was going to drop. He still might.

"I heard you're not feeling well," Hammond said.

Oh you did, did you? And you just couldn't wait to come running over here to see if it's true. Well, screw you Brad!

"I imagine you've heard all kinds of things today, Brad," George forced a smile as he threw his arm across Hammond's shoulder and tried, unsuccessfully, to steer him towards the exit. "But, I can assure you, a bad day for me is still better than a good day on your side of the freeway."

"That right?" Hammond glared at him.

You jerk. You pompous, arrogant, self-serving, bureaucratic jerk! George ran out of suitable words that he could think of to describe him and simply returned his glare. Think you can stand here and threaten to shut me down? Huh? Think you can do that? Well, you're wrong. This is my play and, in spite of whatever rumours might just happen to be flying around right now, I'm not shutting down. Not yet. I'm gonna see this through. I'm gonna stay here until we find this bomb or I drop dead on my feet and neither you nor any of those assholes at Division can do anything about it!

So you can take your politics and your management decisions and you can shove them, Brad. Because this is my department and I'm running it. And I'll run it until it kills me – because it's all I have left and . . . oh God. . . I want it. I want it so badly and that I am not letting you take it away from me. And I'm not letting you take away these good people who are doing their very best for me, and more importantly, for their country. I'm not letting you take them. Not now. Not today. You can have them tomorrow. But not today.

Because today is my last day on this planet and, to be honest, I would have loved to have spent it lying in the arms of some hot young systems analyst, in her cosy apartment, hell, even in the back seat of her car would have worked! But something made me realise that this is where I want to be. Okay, that's sad I know, but it's my choice. All my life someone or something made the choices for me and I've always let myself be carried along, never caring enough to do something about it. This time it's _my_ choice. And you are not shutting me down!

I'm not gonna negotiate this, Brad. You can say what you like about me being the one to negotiate with terrorists. I don't care because I know you'd have done exactly the same had you been in my shoes. I know for a fact that you'd have done what I did. Because, and no-one knows this, I did it on Palmer's instructions. I did it because he promised me that after I took the reprimand and demotion he'd ensure that I skipped five years of middle-management and I'd be promoted and transferred to D.C. Shit! I even turned Democrat and voted for him because of it. But somewhere along the way, like all politicians, he forgot to make good on his promise to me.

Bitter? Hell no! Life's too short to be bitter. Hey, that's just another thing I've discovered today! And that's why you can get the hell outta here.

"We're not shutting down," George told him, knowing that he had to be seen to be decisive. Appealing to Hammond just wouldn't cut it.

"We've got way too many active protocols in play here," George told him firmly. "That's the bottom line."

"I heard your systems failed their priority checks this morning," Hammond said.

Oh, come on, George thought. Someone blew us up this morning! What the hell did you expect?

"That was this morning. Everything's fine now."

He kept eye contact with Hammond, trying to force him to back down. But Hammond wasn't budging. "Eileen? Wanna show Brad here how our systems are _exceeding_ all of their time horizons?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Think you can do that at Division?" George asked.

Hammond didn't reply. Just stared at him.

Seriously Brad, do you think you can do that? Could you pick up the pieces after we've been blown to hell and get this place up and running and operational enough to deal with a nuke threat? Do you?

Look him in the eye, George ordered himself. Force him to back down. He's nothing more than a pen-pushing idiot, and he's easy because he hasn't a clue as to what we're going through here today. He's a . . . . Jesus Christ! He's me! He's what I've been all my freaking life! But not any more! I'm not him anymore. No way! But I can still fight him on his level. It's all a matter of having the balls and the right kind of smirk on my face. I don't need to be Jack Bauer and run around with a big gun to win this battle. I can fight this with a pen and an expensive suit and a look.

"Don't believe everything you hear, Brad," George gave him his best sneer, turned and walked purposefully away from him.

"Thank you." He shot over his shoulder. Do what you want but I'll be damned if you're gonna shut this place down.

When he was out of Hammonds sight he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall and almost cried out loud at the pain. He checked his arm. The blood had seeped through the bandage and his jacket sleeve. He was sure Hammond hadn't noticed anything. It had taken a hell of a lot out of him but hopefully he'd bought them, and him, a little more precious time.

"So, what's the word at the airport?" he asked Tony.

"They're searching the planes and all the structures. But there's too many places this thing could be," Tony sighed.

Then Randy Murdoch yelled to them. "Got it! It's either N34-G5 or N34-G6!"

"Michelle?" George looked to her for confirmation.

"Got it," she nodded. "N34-G5. It's registered in California and it's at Norton airfield, hangar MD7."

George nodded to Tony. "Get Bauer!"

This could be it, George thought. Please God, let this be it. Now, all I gotta do is get rid of Hammond so we can finish this, and then I can go . . . I can go . . . home? Where? No. Don't think about it now. Just concentrate on finding the bomb and Hammond who was right now walking towards him.

George straightened himself up and waited for the verdict. He prepared himself for another round of verbal sparring before closing in for the kill – a little snippet he'd learned about Brad and a certain female they both knew. If all else failed, fighting 'em with their own weapons usually worked.

God knows, I've learned that well enough over the years, he thought sadly.

"All right, you're clear until the threat passes. When it does, we're gonna re-evaluate," Hammond told him.

"Fine," George replied, keeping his voice level, disguising the relief he felt, and walked with him to the exit. Then he began to cough violently. Shit!

"See somebody about that cough, George. You don't look so good," Hammond advised.

"Appreciate your concern, Brad." George dismissed him and his comment.

He loosened his tie as Hammond left. He turned to see Michelle watching him but he couldn't read her expression. Sympathy? Concern that he was losing it? What? She looked away as he caught her eye. She hadn't ratted him out to Division. She wouldn't do that, he was sure of it.

Hey, she's probably just impressed with the way I handled Brad.

Anyway, it didn't matter. He'd more important things on his mind right now as they waited for Jack to call.

George, and everyone around him, held their collective breath as they waited while Michelle spoke quietly to Jack. George strained to hear what she was saying, but she kept her voice low. Come on, he silently urged her. Tell us. He could feel the nervous anticipation hanging in the air.

Still holding the phone she looked up at him and shook her head. "They don't have the bomb."

George felt the heart go out of him. We're not gonna find it. We're gonna be too late and it's gonna go off. He covered his mouth in despair and fear. It kinda made sense that there'd be a decoy out there for them to find. Sure, they'd keep looking. Jack wouldn't give up. But would they find it in time? He doubted it.

It was now nine o'clock in the evening. He made his way back up to his office and sat there for ages. He could feel his heart beating inside his chest. It still beat strongly. Of course it did. He didn't smoke. He didn't drink too much. His diet was good and he jogged and played squash whenever he could. For his age he was still in pretty good shape.

But every beat of his heart told him that the remaining minutes of his life were rapidly ticking away.


	10. Dead Man Walking

Chapter 10 – Dead Man Walking.

George remained in his office, alone. There was little else to do at the moment except wait for Jack and his teams to find the bomb and defuse it - or for it to explode destroying him, CTU, Jack Bauer and the rest of Los Angeles along with it. He had no energy left for anything now and found himself sitting there wondering if he cared any more.

No. I don't. Why the hell should I? What difference is it going to make? Any of it? If Jack finds the bomb and it doesn't go off, it'll happen again and again and again. Maybe not a nuke next time but there'd be something. It'll keep on happening again and again. Because it all boils down to the fact that bad things happen to good people and we can't change that. We can try but when you get right down to it we can't make a difference any more. So, why do we keep on trying then?

Why am I still trying? Why did I come back here to die?

He couldn't find the answer. Maybe there wasn't one. Maybe the answer lay simply in the fact that they did keep on trying. Maybe that's all there was. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

If I could have one wish, one last wish, or a last request – what would I wish for? Well, that's easy. Not to be dying would be a good place to start!

No seriously, he asked himself. What would you really wish for? I don't know. More time maybe. Even another day. Yeah, but what would you do with it? That's just it. I don't know.

* * *

God I'm so tired, George thought and ran his hand wearily across the top of his head. Twenty years – hell, five years ago - Carol would have laced her fingers through his hair, short as it was, pulled him to her and they'd have been at it on the couch, praying John wouldn't walk in on them. Well okay, maybe a lot longer than five years ago - but all those days were long gone now, and right along with them went his marriage, his career, and all his hopes and dreams, and now this was all he had left. This? And it wasn't enough. Damn it!

Maybe I should call her. Say goodbye and tell her that I'm sorry. Nah. She'd probably just hang up if I did.

* * *

What the. . . ? He frowned at the tuft of hair in his hand, rubbing it between his fingers, not understanding at first. Then the realisation dawned on him. Uh-oh.

Well, this sucks. This really sucks big-time.

He reached for the small first aid kit that he kept in his office, opened it and looked at his face in the mirror inside the lid, peering as best as he could at his hair, what was left of it, and his eyes, now red-rimmed from more than just exhaustion.

I look like shit, he realised. I'm dying. Really dying. Not just bad-hangover-wanting-to-crawl-back-into-bed dying, but really dying. Oh God.

* * *

His phone rang. He set the mirror down and hit the speaker.

"Mr. Mason?" A female voice spoke to him. Not Michelle. Not Eileen. He couldn't think who it was. Right now he didn't care. He was beaten, finished. Ready to give up.

"We finally got through to Jack Bauer," she told him. "He's on line two."

"Good." A little hope flared as he painfully reached across his desk.

From a million miles away he could hear someone calling his name. Who? Why? He struggled to concentrate.

"Uh. . . . . how's the search going over there, Jack?"

"Still no leads on where the bomb is," Jack told him.

That figures, George thought. Like, I really expected Jack to be calling me with _good _news!

He reached for the bottle of pills on the desk in front of him. The nausea had come back with a vengeance.

"What about that plane you found the decoy in?"

"It's clean," Jack said. "I need you to use reverse-time satellite to try and trace the plane back to its original location. That's where they would have loaded the decoy bomb. See if you can find out who the players are from there."

George swallowed two more pills along with a mouthful of water.

"George? You with me?" Jack asked.

He looked around. Someone was calling him. Why? Who was it, and where was he? George frowned, trying to focus.

He didn't understand the question. He faded in and out of the blackness that welcomed him and at the same time repelled him. A bit like Carol at the end of their marriage. He had to go there – wanted to go there - to that blackness. But not yet. There were a couple of things he had to do first, if he could just figure out what they were.

"George, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

". . . . yeah. . . " he struggled to find his way out of the blackness.

"George?"

"Yeah. I'm on it," he raised his voice to Jack as he managed to pull it together again. "Reverse-time satellite. Yeah."

"George, I'm really sorry about everything that's happened to you today. I am," Jack told him. "But if you can't think clearly you need to step aside and let someone else take over command. We need someone in command now."

"There isn't anybody else, Jack."

"What about Tony?"

Well yeah, okay, there's Tony, but. . .

"I got it together. I can handle it. All right?"

"Yeah, okay."

George could hear the doubt in Jack's voice. Christ, that was close, he thought. But I'm okay. I think.

"We do have another problem," he told Jack.

"What?"

"The six dead commandos you found? Well, it turns out there was a seventh who may have escaped," George told him, relaying the latest update he'd received from NSA.

"Well, that would make sense," Jack said. "I examined all of their gunshot wounds. Three of the commandos definitely knew who the shooter was – their wounds were front entry at close range. The other three showed signs of a struggle which would indicate to me that they had time to react."

"So the seventh didn't escape?"

"Right. He was a shooter. George, I gotta go. Get me an ID on the seventh commando as soon as you can, okay?"

"Yeah. I'm working on it," George leaned over his desk as another wave of pain struck, making him almost cry out.

"Good," Jack said.

No. Not from where I'm sitting, George thought. God, this hurts. But it was the temporary blackout that concerned him. He hadn't totally lost consciousness - okay, maybe for a second or two – and he could still hear Jack talking, but it just seemed as though he was speaking in slow-motion or through cotton wool and the words just hadn't made sense for a moment or two. Not good at all, he thought, as the reality of his situation – his condition – once more punched him hard in the guts. And along with it came the gut-wrenching fear as he remembered what the Hazmat doctor had told him earlier this morning.

"_. . . your hair will start to fall out . . . you'll start to manifest gastro-intestinal haemorrhaging. . . skin lesions . . . bleeding from the mouth and nose. . . "_

Yeah, all that and more, George thought.

"_. . . your mental function begins to deteriorate and then you'll lapse into a coma . . ."_

And all of this happening in a little less than twelve hours! The doc sure was on the nail with this diagnosis. I should call him up and congratulate him, tell him he got it exactly right, well except for the coma part. I'm still conscious – apart from that one moment, and my mental functions are fine. Aren't they?

Sure they are. I just gotta hang on until Jack finds this freaking bomb. That's all. He'll find it. He won't let me down. I know Jack, almost as well as he knows himself. He won't let himself down so he won't let me down. Just gotta hang on, that's all.

A movement downstairs caught his eye and he peered down at an unfamiliar face.

Hel-lo? He straightened himself up as best as he could and went to investigate.

* * *

"You must be the new assistant Division sent?"

"Carrie Turner. You must be George Mason." She offered her hand.

George reached to take it but a fit of coughing stopped him. Carrie's hand disappeared quickly.

"Excuse me," he apologised, still coughing.

"Hey, you look worse than I expected," Carrie said.

"Is there something I can help you with?" George eyed her carefully, but chose to ignore her comment.

"No," Carrie shook her head. "I'm pretty much set. I've been following everything from Division. I'll be taking over Paula's responsibilities so if there's anything you need the server to do, I'll make it happen."

All short skirt and efficiency, George thought. Same old, same old.

"Good. The situation reports have changed in the past hour so you'll have to refresh the computer monitors."

"Not a problem." Carrie looked at him again. "Just make sure that everyone keeps their hands off my system."

"O-kaay." Back away slowly and carefully George, he told himself. Even on your best day she'd be far too hot for you.

He took a step back, coughing as he did so.

Carrie watched him. "Uh . . . Mr. Mason . . . who do I report to – directly?"

"You report to me," he told her. Who the hell else would you report to?

She smiled. "No offence Mr. Mason, but rumour has it you're not gonna be around much longer."

Smart girl, he thought. Listens to the gossip and uses it to her advantage.

"So . . . who do I report to?" She asked again.

George gave her a wry smile. "I finally get someone around here who I like and I'm not gonna be around to enjoy it."

He couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it. "To Tony Almeida. . . " his laughter turned into a cough, ". . . . and Michelle Dessler."

Carrie did a double take. "Did you say Michelle Dessler?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"Uh. . . we worked together at District. I was her boss then."

Oh meow, George thought. This could be fun. Pity I'm gonna miss it.

"And you're telling me this, why?" he asked her.

"It'll be fine," Carrie shrugged it off. "It's not important."

The hell it isn't, George thought. He was about to say something when a dizzying blackness engulfed him. He blinked to try and clear his head but it was no good. He reached out for something, couldn't find what he was looking for, and went crashing to the floor.

"Mr. Mason? My God! Mr. Mason?"

He could hear her from a distance and he struggled to get up as she knelt down beside him.

"Are you all right?" He heard her ask as she helped him up.

"Yeah." The blackness faded and he looked up at her, kneeling beside him. Yeah George, collapsing at her feet can't fail to impress her.

* * *

He made it to the bathroom, checked no one was about and leaned back against the wall, waiting while the nausea passed over him. It's time, he thought. But he had one more phone call to make.

* * *

"Tony, got a second?"

"Sure," Tony looked up. "What is it?"

"I think it's time I step down. I'm not feeling so hot here."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Actually, yeah," George replied. "Tomorrow, when this is all over, say goodbye to everybody for me and let them know what an honour it was working with them, and what a great job I think they all did – everybody."

"Sure," Tony nodded.

George smiled sadly. "This morning, when I told you I couldn't wait to get out of here. . . I don't feel that way any more."

Tony didn't speak. He couldn't even make eye contact.

That's okay Tony, George thought. You're probably remembering how you caught me sneaking off this morning, and I know exactly how little you thought of me then. I'll let you in on a big secret; I don't think all that much of me either. Yeah, I was running. I figured that I'd served my time. . . and for all the thanks I ever got for it. . . I thought what the hell, why not run? I was terrified that this bomb was gonna explode and take all of us with it. It still could. It still probably will, but there's nothing I can do about that any more.

You know what Tony; if I hadn't gone into that warehouse this morning and hadn't been poisoned by radiation would I have come back? I don't know. I can't answer that and I guess I'll go to my grave not knowing that. I'd like to think I would have, I'd like to pretend that I would have, but I don't think so. You know me, always the coward. Always covering my ass.

Even when you told me about the bomb and all of our people killed and injured I still wasn't coming back. I figured then that I'd be no good to anyone and that I'd just sit up there in the office wallowing in self-pity. But sometime during the course of the day things changed. I felt different. Yeah okay, I know impending death puts a new perspective on things and all that, but there was more to it. Honestly.

Because, for the first time in my life I was where I wanted to be. Here at CTU, serving my country for the last time. That sounds trite, but it is genuinely how I feel in my heart. And watching you guys working your butts off today - especially you and Michelle - filled me with pride and I felt a comradeship that I have never known before. It really was an honour to have served with you.

I wish I could tell you all these thoughts that are running through my head right now. But you wouldn't believe me. I know you too well, and you know me too well.

* * *

George handed him the disk. "Here you go."

"What's this?" Tony frowned.

"Access codes for CTU and Division."

Tony shook his head. "I can't take this, George. Only the CTU Director is allowed that kind of access."

George smiled. "You're the new CTU Director, Tony."

Tony shook his head again. "You can't promote me, George. Chappelle is the only one who can do that."

"I just talked to Chappelle. You're the new guy."

Tony rubbed his eyes and wearily shook his head. "Listen, George. . . I'm sorry, I . . . ."

"Hey, don't," George quietly stopped him.

The two men shook hands.

"Good luck," George told him and turned away.

He kept his head high as he walked to the exit. A quick glance to the side saw Michelle with tears in her eyes as she watched him go. He smiled to her and she managed to smile back.

No honey, George thought. You don't have to cry for me. I'm not worth it. But thank you anyway.

He looked around one last time, but everything was blurred now as the tears filled his own eyes. He fought to keep them from spilling over. He fought hard but he just couldn't prevent them falling as he walked out of CTU.


	11. Ground Zero

Chapter 11 – Ground Zero.

The underground car park was still a mess. George looked at his watch. It was nine thirty-five pm. Had it really been less than twelve hours since he'd watched Paula Schaeffer die in this place?

The driver saw him approaching and the black SUV pulled up alongside him. George climbed into the passenger seat.

Okay, what now? Stop off and grab a beer on my way home? Hit a night club or something? What? He smiled grimly at the thought. He gave the driver directions. He knew exactly where he wanted to go.

* * *

The flashing blue lights hurt his eyes and the siren screamed like a drill going right into his head and out through the other side, and when the vehicle pulled up at his destination he sighed with relief and climbed painfully out. He slowly walked towards Jack Bauer.

"George?" Jack frowned as he approached. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"This is the thing that killed me, Jack. I'd kinda like to be here when they lay it to rest. Got it defused yet?"

Jack shook his head. "No. Not yet. They're looking at about ten minutes."

"Is there a timer?" George asked.

"It's internal. They haven't been able to read it yet."

Oh, George thought, a little dejectedly. This is not good at all. He'd been hoping to watch them put an end to it.

"So theoretically, it could detonate at any minute," he said.

"George, they've got it under control," Jack put on his most reassuring voice. "Come on, there's gotta be somewhere else you'd rather be."

George heard the pity in Jack's voice and hated it. Well, yeah, there are plenty of places I'd _rather_ be, but I figured here was where I'd find all the action tonight.

"I promised myself I was going to see this through to the end and that's what I'm gonna do," he said.

George doubled over as he dry heaved again. He reached into his pocket and took out the bottle of pills, dropping them on the ground at his feet. He staggered and he almost pitched forward as he reached down for them. God, I'm acting like I'm drunk now. I wish I was drunk.

"You all right?" Jack asked as he watched him pick up the bottle.

"Yeah. I'll just take something," he mumbled as he opened the bottle. This little bottle of pills solves everything. They're magic.

* * *

Then suddenly there was activity behind them. Something was very, very wrong. The Nuclear Emergency Search Team guy, who had been crouched in front of the bomb, examining it, stood up and stepped back from it. There was a look on his face that chilled George to the core.

"Just give me a minute, okay?" Jack hurried over to the team.

George leaned against the front of the SUV, needing the support. He was finding it hard to breathe now and only able to inhale in short, shallow gasps. He watched Jack and the N.E.S.T team, straining to hear as the technician told Jack that the device was tamper-proof and that anything they did to try and disarm it would detonate it.

Oh shit, George thought. It's gonna blow. There's nothing we – they – can do.

He stared at the device, hating it like it was something alive. He would smash it to pieces if he only had the strength. Destroy it like it had destroyed him. He could almost see inside it. He could see the plutonium that had already killed him and he could feel it reaching out to him, calling him, enticing him.

God, I'm really losing it, he thought, shaking off the feeling and bringing his concentration back to Jack who was talking to Palmer on the phone - something about fifty-five minutes on the timer.

Good, George thought. Fifty-five minutes is good. That's more than enough time to figure out a way to disable it.

Then he heard Jack say something about wanting maps and charts for both scenarios – the Pacific Ocean and the desert.

What? George frowned. What are they playing at? This is nuts. Come on! Stop dicking around and defuse the freaking thing!

Then he watched as a small plane - a Cessna Caravan - taxied up nearby and Jack and the team began loading the bomb onto it. What the hell are they doing?

Jack was talking to Palmer again. George edged closer to try and hear the conversation.

". . . . we have a few volunteers, sir. All of them good men. . ." Jack was saying to Palmer. Apparently some decision had been made and the desert was the winner.

George immediately realised what Jack was planning. You asshole Jack, he thought.

* * *

"Funny, I don't see any volunteers," George remarked as he walked up to him. "When's the last time you flew a plane?"

Jack seemed surprised at the question but recovered quickly. "I can get it in the air and put it down where it needs to go, George."

He took a deep breath. "So can I. I'm current. I'm instrument rated, and I'm gonna be dead by the end of the day anyway. It . . ."

Jack cut him off. "George, the problem is you could be dead at any minute."

"I can hang on for another half hour. That's all we need. Right?"

"George, if you blacked out and this plane went down before it got to the desert a lot of people are gonna die. I know you don't want that. . ."

"Come on, Jack."

Please. I can do this, Jack. I can hang on long enough. I can do this. I have to. Come on Jack, he pleaded silently.

But Jack shook his head. "I know what you're trying to do but I gotta say no."

* * *

Jack turned away from him as though ashamed and spoke into his radio. "Agent Goodrich, this is Bauer. They chose the desert. I want you to clear airspace and start immediate evacuation, now."

Jack yelled to everyone standing around. "Gentlemen! Load this bomb! We have a go!"

George watched him take command. When everyone sprung into action he looked around him, his eyes darting back and forth. Yeah, this'll work, he thought.

* * *

From his carefully chosen vantage point George waited to make his move. It's all a matter of timing, he thought. All I gotta do is get the timing right and the rest is gonna be easy. He hid in the darkness and listened.

". . . . I love you too, sweetheart. Goodbye," Jack said into the radio.

George winced. This kind of crap was making him feel more nauseous that he had felt all day. Obviously CTU had located Kim and had patched her through to Jack so that he could say a heartfelt, teary goodbye, and at the same time let Kim - and probably most of CTU who would be listening in on the call - know what a great hero he was! Oh, please! Give me a break, Jack. If I have to listen to any more of this I really will puke again.

* * *

He waited impatiently until Jack had configured the final co-ordinates and set the autopilot, and then he carefully made his move. But obviously not as carefully as he had thought because Jack heard the movement, quickly turned, pulled out his gun, and levelled it at him.

"Don't move," Jack growled menacingly.

"Hey, hey, hey!" George wisely stopped moving. "The service is bad enough on this flight! You don't have to shoot me!"

The look of shock and surprise on Jack's face was priceless, and almost worth dying for.

"George?! What the hell are you doing here?!"

George shrugged casually. "I felt like taking a ride."

"How the hell did you get on this plane?" Jack asked.

"It wasn't that hard. To them I'm still head of CTU."

"Son of a bitch!" Jack swore.

"Brought something for ya."

Jack merely stared at him.

"It's a parachute," he explained.

"I can see what it is, George," Jack sounded surprisingly angry. "I already told you, I'm taking this plane in."

George made his way to the front of the plane.

"And that might have made sense back on the ground," he said as he took a seat behind Jack. "But let's face it, Jack, the hard parts over. You took off - cleared the city. What's left but flying it straight and level and taking it into a dive?"

Jack looked away, out into the darkness beyond.

"Am I right?" George asked.

Jack didn't speak. Wouldn't speak.

"Unless, of course, maybe you . . . wanna die?"

Jack's head turned sharply towards him. Got him, George thought.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Jack," George cajoled. "You've had a death wish ever since Teri died. The way things have been going for you this past year and a half this probably doesn't look like such a bad idea. You get to go out in a blaze of glory, one of the greatest hero's of all time. . . " George gave him a second to let what he'd said sink in, and then moved in for the kill, ". . . leave all your troubles behind. This could be the easy way out, huh?"

A bout of coughing spoiled the moment, for him at least, but he could see that he was slowly getting through to Jack.

Work him, he thought. He's easy. Just work him. All I gotta do is hit him where it hurts. Where I know he's vulnerable. That's how I get through to Jack Bauer.

"You still got a life, Jack. You wanna be a real hero? Here's what you do. You get back down there and you put the pieces back together. You find a way to forgive yourself for what happened to your wife. . ."

It's working, George thought. He's weakening.

He pushed on. "You make things right with your daughter and you go on serving your country. That'd take some real guts."

Guts I that don't have, but you do.

"Go on, Jack. You got twelve minutes. What's it gonna be? You wanna live or not?"

* * *

George could barely see Jack's face in the dimly lit cockpit but he could tell that Jack was thinking it over.

But will he go for it? Either he'll shoot me and take the plane down himself, and no one will ever know I'm here - which would really suck - or he'll finally get some brains and realise that doing it this way makes the most sense. Well, for him, anyway.

"You really think you can do this?" Jack asked.

"Yes," George replied, the conviction in his voice surprising even him.

"You are absolutely sure you can do this?" Jack asked again.

George looked him straight in the eye. "Jack, I'm _supposed_ to do this."

And then suddenly it was over. Without saying a word Jack relented and George could tell by his body posture that he had all but given up. Until now. He'd said goodbye to his daughter and he was prepared to face death – was almost looking forward to it - and now a second chance had been placed in his hands and he was going to take it.

For a moment George could only feel jealousy and hatred for this man sitting there with him in this tiny plane that was carrying them to the end of the world. Why couldn't he get a second chance? Hadn't he been praying for one all day?

He brushed the feeling aside, climbed into the co-pilot's seat and buckled up.

"You'll need to maintain this heading and airspeed," Jack explained. "The second the LED reads a minute and a half you initiate a dive at a thirty degree angle."

"Won't that get me in a little early?" George frowned, suddenly not so sure about this whole deal.

"That's the point," Jack told him. "You have to be absolutely certain that the bomb is already in the depression before it goes off."

Oh great, George thought. _That_ didn't exactly occur to me. I probably should've read the small print a bit more carefully.

"I get it," he said.

Jack looked at him carefully. "Thank you George. Thank you."

The two men sat together in silence for a moment

"Come on, Jack. Get your 'chute on and get the hell outta here."

"I'm staying with you as long as possible," Jack told him.

"I got it together Jack. I'm fine."

"George, this is not negotiable. I'm bailing out four minutes before impact. That should get me far enough away from the blast zone to make it," Jack said.

_Impact_ and _blast zone_! Stop using those words, Jack! Please! They're not exactly the most comforting words I wanna hear right now, George thought, as the terror at what he was about to do rose up in him. Oh God.

Then Jack was on the radio. "Patch me through to CTU."

George could hear Tony answering.

"This is Jack. I need you to get a helicopter in the air immediately! We got a change of plan here! I'm bailing out and George is taking the plane down!"

There he goes again, using those nice comforting words! He could hear Tony's surprised - 'What the hell is George doing there?'

He probably thought he'd heard the last about me. I wonder how he's settling into my office.

* * *

Both men glanced at the LED. There were five minutes and fifteen seconds left on the clock. George fought to mask the pain and quickly glanced over the controls, making sure that everything was in order as Jack, now in the rear seat, put on the parachute.

"Okay, I'm set," Jack said. "George, is there anything you want me to take care of?"

"Oddly enough, I think I got everything pretty much squared away. I even got to spend a little time with my son," George told him.

Jack looked at him. "I didn't even know you had one."

George smiled grimly. Sometimes I didn't know either.

"I'm glad you got to see him."

"Yeah. Me, too." George smiled at the memory of his handcuffed, angry son being brought into CTU. "I don't think he was particularly, but . . . actually, I wouldn't mind if you checked in on him."

"Of course I will," Jack promised. He reached forward and put his hand on George's shoulder in a final gesture of appreciation that, in all the years they'd known one another; neither of them had ever shared before. It was nothing more than a moment of thank you and goodbye.

George breathed in sharply as pain coursed through him and reached to clasp the hand that still rested on his shoulder. He had less than five minutes to live and this, his final moment of human contact, was almost more than he could bear.

"It's time," he said.

"Yeah," Jack replied.

There was nothing more to say and Jack quietly made his way to the rear of the plane, opened the door and jumped out.

* * *

The numbers on the LED approached the one minute and thirty seconds mark.

This is it, George thought and banked the plane to the left and began to take it into the dive. The controls shuddered in his hands as the altitude dropped and it seemed as though the plane itself was resisting – fighting to stay in the air and live. He could sense the bomb in the cargo hold and wondered if it too, knew that it was going to die.

He gripped the controls more tightly, determined to stay on course, ignoring the pain and the fear. Oh, God.

Tears blurred his vision and streamed down his face as the ground came up to meet him. Instruments began to fail and alarms buzzed at him as if the plane was trying to reason with him and convince him that it was never meant to land at this steep an angle.

George's arms were rigid and his face a mask of terror and he gripped the controls as though his life depended on it. He braced for impact.

For a few seconds there was nothing but blackness and pain and silence. Did I make it? Oh God, please, George prayed. Did I do it right?

Then his world turned white as the nuclear bomb exploded.

* * *


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

I certainly have never seen it. I don't think any fan of 24 ever has. But we all know that it exists. It's there somewhere on a wall inside the re-built CTU building. It's a bronze plaque and written on it is a list of the names of the thirty people who died on the day that CTU was bombed. There is another very similar, though smaller, plaque close by and written on it are the following words. . . .

"_This plaque is dedicated to the memory of Director George Mason, CTU, Los Angeles. His selfless sacrifice saved the lives of millions of people in this city." _

There are those who are employed in CTU now and they will walk past it and look at it and wonder who George Mason was, and maybe they'll ask about him. They'll ask someone like the new director, Tony Almeida, who knew him well, and Tony will stop for a moment and remember his former boss and he will tell them that George Mason was a hero. And maybe, if he has time, he will tell them the story of how George flew the plane that carried the nuclear bomb out of the city and crashed it into the desert.

Or maybe he won't. Maybe he'll stop and remember George and his sarcasm and his dry humour, and then he'll remember what a complete bastard George could be when he felt like it, and how he would suck up to his superiors and at the same time hate anyone who sucked up to him. Then Tony would smile and remember the George he knew on that last day – still a bastard at times, always the cynic, but also a man who knew that his time had come but wasn't afraid to carry on and do his job to the best of his ability despite his condition and rapidly worsening health. And Tony, always a man of few words, will just tell then that George Mason was a good man who did his job.

And people like Michelle Dessler – now Michelle Almeida, because she listened to the advice George gave her on that day and she plucked up the courage to ask Tony for a date and they eventually got married. Michelle also remembers him as a man who she could admire and detest at the same time and she'd tell anyone who asked that he was a real hero.

Jack Bauer would also have a few words to say about George. Not all of them kind, mind you. Jack never really liked him nor did he ever completely forgive him for Teri's death at the hands of Nina Myers. But he would, now and then, stop and think of the day the nuclear bomb nearly went off in Los Angeles and he'd think about his old boss and remember the last few words they shared together on the plane flying into the desert. And Jack is another one who will tell anyone who asks that George Mason was a real hero.

And, of course, there are the cynics. People like Brad Hammond, who would laugh at the words written on that bronze plaque, and they'll tell anyone who would listen that George Mason spent the best part of his career covering his ass, angling for promotion, and that he was so freaking yellow he couldn't even face his own impending death!

So what? Yeah, sure that was the George everyone knew back then. But every one changes. Everyone has the chance at redemption. George got his chance and he took it, because deep down he was a good man.

The cynical ones among us will stand by their opinion of George, nothing will change them, but that's because they really didn't know him all that well. Not like Jack and Tony and Michelle did. Not like we did.

Wherever he is, you can be sure that George loves both versions!

Mandi Sheridan

August 2004

a/n. Please remember that in this fan fic I have used the dialogue and events as they are in Season 2 of 24. This is George's story of those events through his eyes. It was an interesting story. It was fun. Oh, and there were a few tears as well!


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